


Monstrosity Divine

by fatalchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After declaring himself God, Castiel realizes that Hell is a necessity and a strong leader is required to maintain the damned souls. Discovering Crowley's betrayal, he deposes him and decides to put one of his own kind on the throne of Hell, and who better to manage Hell than the first fallen angel? While initially mistrustful, Lucifer is content to allow Castiel's newfound powers to work to his advantage, but he soon notices that there is something distinctly off about Castiel. The souls from Purgatory are driving him mad, and something else is lurking beneath the surface, hiding within him and waiting for its chance to take control, pushing him ever closer to an inevitable end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Angelcest Big Bang. An immense thank you to my artist h4ppy_fun_b4ll who was immensely patient with technical errors and went above and beyond in her creations. You were wonderful to work with.  
> [Art Masterpost](http://h4ppy-fun-b4ll.livejournal.com/13073.html)

The Kingdom of Heaven was spread vast before him. His kingdom now. His children seemed a frail, trembling lot before him now, scrabbling to placate him. That was wise. Those who resisted had to be eliminated. Many already had. Castiel turned his head and let his eyes roam across the beautiful landscape, admiring the lush grass, the colorful flowers, the thousands of black, ashen wings now spread before him. Tragic, he thought, and yet remarkably beautiful at the same time. These angels died with purpose; they served as an example to all who remained.

“Be obedient, children,” Castiel commanded, lips curving into a small, twisted smile, “and all will be well.”

He departed then. There were matters to attend to below.

* * *

Crowley clutched the little roll of paper in trembling hands. This was insane. The entire plan was insane, and if the Winchesters thought they were going to summon Death to kill a freshly powered up god-angel and it wasn’t going to come back to bite somebody, then they were more insane than any of their half-brained schemes. Frankly, as long as it didn’t come back to bite him, he didn’t much care. As far as he was concerned, those two boys had it coming. After all, if they had just minded their own business and left well enough alone, none of this would have gone nearly as bad as it had. Then again, if Castiel had simply listened to him and killed the little troublemakers back when he asked, they would have saved themselves even more trouble. It might all have worked out, Crowley thought. He would be safe, in his rightful position as the King of Hell, formidable enough in his own right to protect himself from his former business partner. Of course, it would figure that the little featherbrain wouldn’t have it in him to simply do what needed doing until after it was too late to really matter. Stupid, careless, idiotic—

“Hello, Crowley.”

Bollocks. Crowley turned around slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat and lifting his eyes up to meet Castiel’s icy blue gaze. “Cas,” he greeted with fake cheeriness, forcing a smile that quickly faded when he saw how Castiel tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in confused scrutiny. “I meant God, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Well then, our illustrious ruler, what can I do for you on this fine—”

“Stop pandering.”

“Right… But you did want something?”

“Yes, I did. I already made my request of you, Crowley, and you’ve refused me.”

“Refused you? I would never.”

Castiel sighed. “Don’t insult me. I was very generous with you, but now you’ve been disobedient. Worse still, you’ve betrayed me. I can’t allow that.”

Crowley looked up slowly, the increasing panic making his pupils dilate until his eyes were mostly black with just the thinnest bands of green showing. “Wait. Cas, please, you don’t understand. It wasn’t—”

“No.”

There was no snap of Castiel’s fingers, no sudden explosion of bone and flesh and blood. It was very quiet, just two fingers pressed against the demon’s chest, near his heart, and it was still. One brief flash of pale orange light flickered behind the confines of Crowley’s borrowed skin, and then he dropped. The body twitched once, an involuntary spasm of the human who had hosted the demon for so long as he tried to cling to life for a few more seconds. Castiel left him there. He was no longer important. Neither of them were.

* * *

Earth had been the pinnacle of God’s creation, beautiful, lush, and capable of supporting all manner of life forms with remarkable self-sufficiency. These days, the planet required practically no intervention from the Host in order to maintain its various inhabitants, but as he surveyed they small blue sphere, Castiel remembered how different things were at the dawn of creation. He remembered how delicate the balance of various chemicals in the air and the dirt were. He remembered how clumsy evolution had seemed at first, little fish dragging themselves up onto the shore. He remembered how many days, months, years he and his siblings had spent carefully monitoring all such developments, guiding this precious planet through its infancy and beyond, but most of all, Castiel remembered the rise of humanity. When God’s chosen children came, the angels had been ordered to vacate, forced to hand over this last, perfect creation into another’s care. Then they were ordered to bow.

Castiel wasn’t bitter about these things. He had come to admire and care for the humans, flawed as so many of them were. They taught him a great deal about freedom, about choice, and at one point, about friendship. But those days were gone, and Castiel had already promised himself that he would not mourn them. Things would be different now. Humans were no longer his charges, no longer beings that he owed a responsibility to or creations that he had to kneel before and protect. Now they were his children, and the choice he intended to present was a very simple one: kneel or die.

It was more than a little unsettling to see what a disobedient group they had become. It was not the theological squabbling that bothered Castiel, though there was a fair deal of that. It was the violation of the inevitable universals. During his brief observation, he witnessed thousands of atrocities being committed: theft, debauchery, blasphemy, even unspeakable forms of violence. Regardless of his kindness, regardless of his compassion and his mercy, Castiel soon faced the reality that some of these beings would be beyond saving. After all, not everyone could inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. That had to be reserved for the righteous, the deserving, the obedient. The rest would have to go elsewhere.

Of course, that should have been Crowley’s responsibility. Even if he had wanted to, chances were that Castiel would never be able to completely erase Hell from existence. He was a new god, a better one, and yet one who seemed to be somewhat locked into a pre-established order, but Castiel didn’t think of it that way. The truth was, deep down, he wanted Hell, just as his Father had. He recognized the need for some safety net to catch the irredeemable sinners, but more importantly, Castiel recognized the potential fragility of his hastily grasped seat of power. He would need Hell as long as he had enemies, and the mighty always have enemies. 

The demons were also problematic. Castiel had begun to indulge certain sympathies for them long ago, after his first descent into Hell when the eyes of the supposedly righteous man had first begun to flicker with blackness. The girl had made him even more confused. She was strange, a twisted black soul behind a pretty, borrowed face. For however corrupt she was, she had displayed faith, loyalty, love, and these things were virtues. On the other hand, demons were demons, unholy abominations that would threaten the rest of his creation if not kept in check, but as long as there was a Hell, there would be demons crawling out of it. Castiel sighed and turned his face up towards the sky, an old habit from when he used to look up to his Father for guidance. His face twisted bitterly. God had never answered him. It was up to him now. He knew that, but if he made it his mission to track down every damned soul to keep under control, he’d have time for little else.

There was nothing for it then. Castiel needed Hell, and he needed somebody else to rule it. But there was nobody he could trust, nobody who he had enough of a grip on to put in that position without the risk of betrayal. Crowley and the Winchesters had proved that. That was another matter, he decided quickly. Traitors deserved no more attention than he had already given them. Castiel put as much distance between himself and that situation as he could, both mentally and physically. He departed to a distant mountain, a quiet, isolated peak where he could think things through in peace. Snow billowed around him, little flecks of white clinging to his hair and melting against his skin until it too was cold. The chill didn’t bother him, but he was soon keenly aware of it, and with the impossible cold came an even more impossible thought. 

The Cage was buried deep below the ninth circle of Hell. It was the point furthest away from the light of Heaven and the love of the Host in all of creation. The entirety of the pit was awash in fire, unnatural, ancient flames that sizzled and licked at the flesh of the damned so that even those not being actively tortured by any outside force were still in constant agony. Still, the Cage was worse. Self-contained and cut off from the rest of creation, it was a cramped, ever twisting prison. The flames there raged worst of all, but they did nothing to warm the strangely cold air. It was like breathing in frost while your skin roasted on the outside, yet neither sensation did anything to quell the other. The very walls radiated pain.

Castiel wasn’t surprised by this. No, what surprised him was the absolute silence.

The first time he had descended so far down, to raise Sam Winchester, the noise that greeted him had been near unbearable. The pitiful human wailing was almost completely lost under the screeching of the archangels’ true voices. Now there was nothing, and the horrible silence was more deafening than any screaming could ever hope to be. Castiel stood on the threshold with his ears ringing. Silence. Silence. Silence.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lucifer said quietly.

Castiel hesitated to look at him. Without a vessel to confine his true form, Lucifer was all light and wings, all terrifying, twisted beauty. Even after an eternity in Hell, Lucifer was still immensely bright. However, God does not stare, Castiel reminded himself, but nor does he avert his gaze. He tried to look at Lucifer levelly, letting the light and power of the souls churning inside him radiate past his vessel.

Lucifer was unimpressed. “You’ve come for the other one? Good luck with that.”

“Other… No. I’ve come to talk to you.”

“Me?” Lucifer laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “What would you have with me, Little Thursday?”

Castiel’s face spasmed with frustration, brows knotting sharply, eyes narrowing, mouth pulling down. “You will not call me that.”

“Very well. What shall I call you, dear brother?”

“…Nor that. We are no longer brothers.”

“We are always brothers, Castiel, but surely you didn’t come all this way to debate potential nicknames and epithets. Did you not want me to retrieve Milligan for you? You did miss quite a lot of Sam during your first visit, after all.”

“I wouldn’t gloat in your position, Lucifer.”

“Nor I in yours.”

Castiel was silent for several long moments. He watched Lucifer closely, eyes lingering on the way his tattered, blackened wings twitched and shrank away from the fire that billowed around him. “This was a mistake.”

“Was it? I have no way of knowing as you’ve yet to disclose anything to me other than which names you do not wish to be called.”

“I had a proposition for you, but it seems that you’re unwilling to take me seriously.”

“I take you very seriously, little brother.”

“And yet you continue to call me that. Can you not see? Can you not see what I have elevated myself to, what I have become?”

Lucifer was silent then, observing through the haze of fire and pain. Yes, he could see that something was very different about Castiel now, but it was something that seemed to escape his vision, something that was blurred around the edges and nonsensical in its perception. He folded his wings in around himself to shield the core of his grace from the unyielding blaze. “Tell me what you’ve come for, Castiel. I will listen.”

“Our Father is gone.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“He has irresponsibly abandoned His creation, and someone had to take over. Someone needs to fix the mess that has been left in the wake of a godless universe and an abandoned apocalypse.”

“That is an immense task.”

“I’m undaunted.”

“I can see that, but what I do not see is why you’ve brought this information to me.”

“Hell is its own undertaking.”

Lucifer’s wings ruffled with something other than pain: amusement. “You’re asking for my help?”

“I’m offering you a chance at redemption.”

“Redemption?” Lucifer echoed, wings bristling.

Castiel cocked his head. “Does that not suit you? Very well. I’m offering you a chance at freedom.”

Lucifer was very still all at once, his grace seeming to expand towards the outer edges of the cage hopefully before retreating, almost as if fleeing from the burns. “You can’t open this door.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Why?”

A silence hung in the air between them as Castiel’s eyes moved over Lucifer’s strangely coiled form. “You’re suffering.”

“I’ve been suffering.”

“Yes, but if I release you, then you would owe me a measure of loyalty, and I find that would be beneficial to me at present.”

Lucifer’s voice came out like a low, warning growl. “A measure of loyalty? What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like. I free you, and in exchange I expect you to be loyal to me, show me more respect than you did the first God.”

For a moment, Lucifer’s grace flared. His wings unfolded, and the bright spirals of light at his core surged with energy and rage. 

Castiel was unphased. “Do you want out or not?”

Lucifer hesitated, torn between pride and freedom, considering the cost of being relieved from his anguish. He looked up, and his answer was evident in his eyes.

“Then you’ll meet my terms,” Castiel said. Without further comment, he held up a hand. The Cage shuddered, reacting to his will, and in mere seconds, Lucifer could feel the bonds holding him beginning to loosen. His true form expanded, eager for freedom, desperate for release from another eternity of torment. He felt a cool rush of air, a breeze blowing on the back of his neck, and then he could breathe. Something warm brushed against his cheek, and it felt familiar— the touch of another angel. Then there was nothing but darkness and quiet and the slow cessation of pain.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucifer woke up flat on his back in the middle of a field. The ground was cool pressing into his back, and he could feel a light breeze blowing strands of hair across his forehead and over his ears. Shoulders, back, face: he was in a vessel. He took a moment to fill his lungs, feeling his diaphragm move and his ribs expand to accommodate the rush of air. The smell of grass tickled his nose, warm and sweet and fresh.

“Is this Heaven?” he whispered.

Castiel glanced down at him. “New Zealand.”

“Oh.”

Lucifer’s voice sounded strange to him. He opened his eyes and was assaulted by the brightness of the sun, overwhelming after so long in the Cage. Quickly, he held up a hand to block the light from his eyes, squinting in a moment of confusion as the light caught on the silver band around his left ring finger— a wedding ring, Nick’s wedding ring.

“…Oh,” Lucifer said again.

“What’s the matter?”

“This isn’t what I expected.”

“It’s more than what you had a few hours ago.”

Lucifer looked up at Castiel, still struggling to get enough of his senses in sync with this new form to move properly. “So this is a temporary measure. You didn’t mention that.”

“Even if it were, I would have been under no obligation to disclose that to you. I have given you more than what you have and more than any other would have given you. …But no. It is not temporary.”

“But Sam will—”

“Sam Winchester is no longer your concern.” Lucifer narrowed his eyes sharply, but Castiel met his gaze with a calm, detached glance. “I’ve restored this body to you, reinforced it so that you will not burn through it. It is wholly yours. I suggest you take care of it.”

Lucifer’s hands pushed against the ground, fingers digging into the dirt as he forced the unfamiliar body upright. Everything felt vivid, the world immense and open around him. His legs didn’t quite feel ready to move, so he simply turned his face upwards to regard Castiel. “…Why?”

“I told you, Lucifer. I’m God.”

“That’s not what I—”

Castiel sighed heavily, pressing his lips into a thin line and squinting against the sunlight. “You were… kind to me once. Whether that was a failed manipulation tactic or a sincere expression of concern, I do not know, but the memory has stayed with me for some time. Regardless of what may have transpired between us in the past, I am God now, Lucifer, and I expect you to treat me accordingly.”

“Accordingly,” Lucifer whispered.

“Yes. Of course, I know your history, and I know I am taking a risk here, but I also know that you have tendency to be sensible, or at least I hope you have maintained that particular characteristic despite your multiple falls. Perhaps, in light of what you were trying to do, the Cage was excessive torment. The one who came before me was petty and irresponsible. I am neither of these things. In time, you will see this, and you will come to submit before me and profess your love.” Castiel turned his head then and glanced down at Lucifer, watching the way the archangel met his eyes with a calm, even gaze. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded slip of paper, holding it out towards Lucifer expectantly. “Your first order,” he explained, feeling a small thrill of power when Lucifer reached up to take the note. “Take two hours to acclimate yourself to this form, make sure you are well and intact, and then meet me at this location. Do not go near the Winchesters, or any one else for that matter, between now and then.”

Castiel was gone in an instant, leaving Lucifer sitting confused and slightly disoriented in the cool, dewy grass. He turned his face up towards the sky and breathed fresh air in slowly through his nose. He had two hours to consider what freedom was worth to him now.

  
Lucifer wasn’t terribly surprised to discover that Castiel’s chosen rendezvous point was an old hotel room. The amount of time he had spent with the Winchesters would likely have caused such settings to evoke feelings of familiarity, an association the proud, self-declared god would likely be unwilling to admit. The place had likely been abandoned for some time, as it was in a sad state of disarray. The windows were filthy, covered with ragged, tattered curtains that still somehow managed to filter out most of the sunlight. The electricity no longer functioned, and the water that came out of the tap was soupy and brown. Lucifer wrinkled his nose up, turning the knob harshly until the faucet sputtered and stopped spewing what seemed to be sewage. He stepped back with a small, agitated sigh. The Kingdom of God indeed.

There was no familiar flutter of an angel’s wings, no gentle hum of grace to herald Castiel’s arrival, just a slight shift in the air and a strange, humming energy that crept down to the base of Lucifer’s spin and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He turned slowly, poised straight and upright now, the size of his vessel giving him a distinct height advantage over Castiel’s smaller form. 

“Hello, Brother.”

The corners of Castiel’s mouth pulled down sharply. “No.”

Lucifer smiled. “We were brothers long before—”

“I have told you. I am no longer your younger brother. I have become God, your Father, and you will—” The soft sound of Lucifer’s laughter cut him off, and his face twisted in frustration. “You find this amusing?”

“Oh, yes. Very much so. You did not create me; therefore, you are not, nor can you ever be, my Father. You claim whatever title pleases you, I suppose, but that is one you’ve no stake on.”

“I don’t think you are grasping the severity of this situation. I lifted you from Hell. I restored your body. I have proven both my benevolence and my might as your God, and you will submit to me, or I will destroy you.”

Lucifer regarded him thoughtfully for several moments, two fingers tapping over his thinly pressed lips. “It seems a bit of a waste, doesn’t it? To go through all that trouble dragging me out just to fight.”

“There would be no fight.”

“So you say.”

“I annihilated Raphael.”

“He was much younger than I am.”

“You’re asking me to prove myself to you?”

“Yes. Perform a miracle.”

“You are my miracle.”

For a moment, Lucifer was speechless. The challenge had his hands curling into fists at his sides, but then he felt his fingernails pressing into his palms, and his mind was dragged back to the present. His fingers, his palms, his jaw clenched so tight, and his nostrils flaring with a sharp intake of breath— all of these things and not a human soul within the confines of this skin that he wore. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see below the surface of this being Castiel had become, trying to find a source for all that power. There was certainly something strange being held within the confines of Castiel’s overstretched grace, many somethings, in fact. Tiny bundles of energy were surging and swirling around each other, struggling for some sort of grip, but below that lurked something darker still. Lucifer exhaled slowly, finally calm enough to meet Castiel’s eyes. 

“What have you done to yourself?”

“I’ve done what you never could.”

“I never attempted or even intended to—”

“Save your excuses. Your being here proves my position. Now, I’ve a proposition for you, and considering how long you’ve spent imprisoned, you’d do well to listen to it.” Castiel waited, but Lucifer was silent, simply watching him with keen, scrutinizing eyes. “…Very well. As I explained to you before, I will be busy managing Heaven and Earth, but I recognize the necessity of Hell. The damned, my enemies, they have to go somewhere, and once they do, they will need to be properly managed.”

“Why not simply destroy them?”

“Why did the former god not destroy you?”

“He still had use for me, I suppose.”

“Really? And yet the plan was nothing more than a farce, a spectacular failure that has been completely derailed. Still, you remain.”

“What’s your point?”

“Do you not think it would have been, perhaps, kinder for God to simply destroy you? In the face of perceived suffering or peaceful destruction, which option provides a more powerful motivation?”

“Suffering.”

“Exactly.”

“You want me to torture people for you?”

“I want your assistance in controlling my enemies so that I may focus my attention where it is more warranted.” 

“So what? Now God doesn’t consider me His enemy?”

“No. I do not, and I sincerely hope you’ve no wish to be.”

“I never wanted that, Castiel. I tried to—”

“We’ve discussed that already. It’s not of any importance to the matter at hand. You will manage Hell. You will follow my laws and maintain undying faith and devotion, and in exchange, I will permit you to freely walk the Earth and live as you please, with the obvious limitations, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Then you agree to my terms?”

“My alternative is a ‘peaceful destruction’, is it?”

Castiel’s stoic expression faltered for a second. “I’ve been kind, Lucifer. Do I need to threaten you with an eternity of imprisonment and torture?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“Good. I’ll start work immediately. Granted, the majority of the souls will gain access to Heaven, but I expect those that fall to you will receive proper punishment and be handled with the utmost care from that point on.”

Lucifer lifted an eyebrow slowly. “Souls? Exactly what are you getting ready to ‘start work’ on?”

“The obvious. You’ll see, in time. You should return to your domain for the moment, re-establish your position. There was a usurper in your absence, and I suspect you’ll want to eliminate any support he carried. Don’t worry. I have already eliminated him.”

Castiel gave a small, pleased smile, turning to look at Lucifer with eyes that seemed strangely vacant. He was gone again, in an instant, before Lucifer could ask further questions or even formally accept his offer. Lucifer felt strangely lightheaded, as if the nervous system of his vessel was directly reacting to the unrest in his grace in a manner that he couldn’t quite control. Castiel was powerful, that much was obvious, but the question was how he had manged to become so powerful. Standing against him then may have very well been suicide, and though Lucifer was unyielding and proud, he was not reckless. He sat on the foot of the dusty double bed, staring into the darkness in thoughtful silence for the better part of an hour before he departed to Hell.

Rumors of the self-proclaimed King Crowley’s disappearance trickled through Hell at an agonizingly slow pace. He hadn’t been a particularly accessible ruler, never one for explaining his motives or plans to very many of his supposed subjects, and it wasn’t the first time he had simply vanished without explanation. Crowley had faked his death before, and it wasn’t unfeasible that he should do so again, should there be significant cause, but this was different. Even after Castiel had made a show of burning a fake skeleton which he declared to be the remnants of Crowley’s human corpse, the demon’s closest advisers and assistants had remained aware of his continued presence and manipulations in Hell. Now there was nothing more than the hushed whisper of an uprising in the wake of a supposed alliance which had gone terribly wrong and a mass of rush scrabbling as everyone sought to find the former king’s secret lair. Lucifer was interested in these things only to the extent that he believed Crowley’s secrets had to be directly connected to Castiel’s mysterious surge of power. When he went to Hell, he did so quietly, and tracing one lone crossroads demon’s trail back to his various hideouts proved simple enough.

The locations themselves were unsurprising. Dank and dirty, many were in such sorry states of disrepair that they threatened to collapse in on themselves at any given moment. The paint chipped walks sported a variety of blood spatters, layers of gore that fell in telling patterns and various colors on top of one another. Most revealing, however, were the vast array of bodies scattered about the various locations. They were all monsters, to varying degrees, some very old and some very young, but it was evident that they had all been tortured to the brink of madness before finally put out of their misery in death. Lucifer hesitated briefly by the body of Eve, who had been pulled apart so completely that her lifeless form had ultimately ceased in its desperate production of eggs. Regardless of her borrowed visage, Lucifer knew her at a glance, and more importantly, he knew that if Eve had involvement in this situation, Crowley and Castiel had been investigating Purgatory. 

A sensation like a small tug on his grace distracted Lucifer from further exploration. It felt something like being summoned, and it made him far more uneasy than the strange piles of bodies had managed to.

The unusual feeling led Lucifer straight to the uppermost circle of Hell. He watched with an oddly detached curiosity as the souls standing in the eternal line shuffled pitifully forward. Ultimately, there was nowhere for them to go. A few held hope as they made their way to the front, perhaps believing that the years they had spent waiting would suffice as penance for their potentially meager crimes and they would be led to some other sort of afterlife, but the front of the line led only to the back of the line. It wasn’t quite torture, but it was close enough with its quiet, eternal isolation. Despite the multitude of souls, they could not interact with each other. They could not talk or touch, and they could not comfort one another. The line itself was a means to an end here, and with each passing moment, hope and identity alike were slowly stripped away.

Lucifer felt a brief sympathy for them. At least the fires below offered the chance at a form of rebirth. Still, they were not his primary concern, nor his main interest. He turned his gaze upwards to look at the sign hanging from the ceiling. The large, blocked numbers turned over slowly, counting the souls of the damned as if they were patrons at a fast food restaurant. The line didn’t stretch quite so long as the number suggested, Lucifer knew, but even he couldn’t completely rework the lower portions of Hell where the worst offenders of humanity were doomed to spend their eternity. He spared a thought for demons then, wondering why Castiel didn’t seek to eliminate them but rather brought Lucifer back to contain them. The almost toy like ding above his head shattered his concentration, and Lucifer looked up at the sign as if it had personally affronted him by chiming at an inopportune moment. 

The last digit in the long number flipped slowly from a six to a seven, then from a seven to an eight, an eight to a nine. In the next moment, the number beside it changed, following the same sequence until it too went as far as it could go. Withing seconds, the numbers were flipping faster than the little sign could keep up, and the back of the line was becoming disorderly and bunched up with the sudden influx of confused human souls. Lucifer realized then that if the bulk of human souls were destined for Heaven and yet Hell was receiving this many, there had to be a massive catastrophe wiping them out on Earth. Lucifer’s concern for humanity was minimal at best, but there were a select few (at least the one) that he would prefer be spared. Besides, this was not a result of human on human violence or even an outbreak of monster nests. 

This was divine wrath. He could feel it.


	3. Chapter 3

The bodies were twisted and mangled, many beyond recognition, yet they formed an almost perfect circle around Castiel’s peaceful form. There was a twenty foot gap of space surrounding him before the first line of corpses, as if he didn’t wish to touch them. Likewise, although a few of their necks had been snapped, most of them were simply broken and smoldering, instantly annihilated and smote into oblivion with celestial power. Castiel closed his eyes, reveling in the brief peacefulness. He felt Lucifer’s approach before he heard him and turned around slowly.

“You’re supposed to be managing Hell.”

“It’s self-contained, at present,” Lucifer replied. “It takes years for a soul to twist enough to be called a demon.”

Castiel blinked placidly, head tilting to one side. “Does it? I’ve seen it happen much more quickly than that.”

“There are always exceptions, but trust me, I have it under control.”

A small, choked laugh bubbled up out of Castiel’s throat. “Trust you?”

Lucifer stopped halfway from where he was stepping over the bodies to reach Castiel’s side. “Don’t you think you should, considering our respective positions as of late?”

“I don’t need to trust you. I can destroy you if you cross me.” He waited a moment for Lucifer to react, expecting anger or pride, potentially both, but there was only the soft footsteps of Lucifer stepping ever closer. “You test me. You test me by coming here.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes you do. You are supposed to manage Hell.”

“And in exchange, I am no longer confined and thus permitted to visit Earth. Hell is managed, and I am visiting.”

“Why did you come here, Lucifer?” Castiel’s eyes remained closed, preventing Lucifer from accurately reading his expression.

“I was concerned.”

Muscles clenching in a brief moment of tension, Castiel’s posture became stiff as he turned to look at Lucifer. He gestured vaguely around him. “They were committing sins in my name,” he said. “Not that I owe you an explanation, of course, but I do not tolerate people speaking on my behalf. They attack their fellows for acts I do not condemn and then call themselves my champion. I gave them a chance to stand down, but…”

“I wasn’t talking about them, obviously.”

“Sam Winchester is unharmed.”

Lucifer’s face twitched with a barely restrained expression. “That’s good, but it’s not him I came for this time.”

“Even as a mere angel, I was more than capable of defending myself against humans.”

“Yes, and you used your battle prowess to defend them at great personal expense, I understand. Now you seek to wipe them out?”

“These sinners must be dealt with, Lucifer. I have little else to say on the matter. If you are going to put forth the argument that I am ‘not myself’, then you are correct. I’ve told you who I am now, as I told them, and I will hear no more argument on the matter. “

Castiel was gone in an instant, leaving Lucifer standing alone as had become the new habit between them. Running away, Lucifer thought to himself. Castiel was running away from something, and Lucifer was certain that he’d seen a flicker of fear hiding deep within his younger brother’s eyes.

* * *

“Man, where the Hell is freakin’ Crowley?” Dean grumbled. “He was supposed to be here ages ago. I mean, what are we supposed to do? Just sit on our hands until Cas decides that his whole benevolent dictatorship bullshit is suddenly less benevolent? After the way he… Sam. Sam. Are you even listening to me?”

Sam blinked his eyes several times, carefully and deliberately, before looking up to meet Dean’s gaze. “Yes. Crowley. Cas. Benevolent dictatorship. I hear you.”

“Yeah, you hear me, but you’re not listening. So what is this? The fallout from your downstairs vacation?” Dean shifted nervously. Sam hadn’t been the same since Castiel had broken the wall in his head, but it was rapidly becoming worse. He stared blankly at nothing, watched invisible movement with wide, red eyes. He had strange muscle spasms that had escalated to the point of making him collapse several times, lying on the floor twitching in agony for what might have been days, weeks, months inside his head. Attempts to treat him or console him at all were becoming increasingly impossible since he couldn’t keep down food, or medication for that matter, and every time he managed to fall asleep, he woke up shaking and crying. They weren’t talking about it. Sam would be fine, Dean knew, because Sam had to be fine. It was Sam.

“I just don’t know what you want me to say here, Dean,” Sam said quietly, trying to ignore the critical, scrutinizing way Dean’s eyes moved over his face. Ice cold fingers dug into his back, and razor sharp nails raked down his flesh. Sam could feel his shirt soaking with blood. That’s not real, he reminded himself. I’m fine. “For all we know Cas found out what Crowley was talking to us and already got rid of him.”

“No. No, he wouldn’t…. Yeah. He would, wouldn’t he? Dammit!”

“Calm down.”

“How am I supposed to be calm when Cas is out there doing who knows what kind of damage and our only chance to stop him just vanished? Not to mention your…” Dean gestured vaguely to his head, at a loss for words.

“You’re talking about killing Cas…”

Dean turned sharply, eyes dark and narrowed. “No, Sammy. I’m talking about stopping his insane rampage and saving a bunch of people.”

Sam shook his head quietly, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. He only looked up when he heard the heavy footfalls in the next room reach the doorway.

“Hate to interrupt the party here, boys, but I think there’s something you oughtta see,” Bobby murmured. He moved with a sort of graceless lethargy, guiding the two brothers into the adjacent room where the television was playing an international news stream.

“He wasn’t like… you know, old or anything,” the perky girl on the screen explained, shaking her head. “No, he was young and handsome. He had these intense blue eyes, but he was wearing this really old tan trench coat. He said that sins committed in the name of God were the height of blasphemy and then he just… killed all the deacons.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh my God…”

“Yeah. Exactly,” Dean muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “How’re we doing on the spell there, Bobby?”

“Oh, you mean binding Death? That’s going just peachy. What happened to your double agent anyway?”

“AWOL. Probably smote.”

“At least you’re being optimistic.”

Dean shot him a scowl, but he didn’t answer. The reality was that Castiel was off killing people in a fit of self-righteous fervor, and there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop him. Dean switched from beer to whiskey and sat back down in front of the television, hardly paying any attention to the stack of research Bobby dropped in front of him on the table. He didn’t notice Sam ducking out of the room.

  
Lucifer lay stretched across his back on a grassy hill in the New Zealand countryside. After the ice and fire of Hell, eons of torment followed by a brief escape that was punctuated only by constant running and physical deterioration, the warm sun and cool breeze were a welcome relief. He wondered what it was like to sleep, how it felt to have worries slip away and let the mind go into a strange subconscious that created pleasant images to entertain itself while the body rested. He was tempted to try, hoping to build Heaven up behind his eyes and revel in the memories of his family, but the strange crackling in the air instantly eliminated any chance of relaxation. Lucifer opened his eyes and sat upright when he saw the dark red spatters across Castiel’s trench coat.

“Are you alright?”

Castiel gave him a disparaging glance, seeming almost insulted. “It is, quite obviously, not my blood.”

“Obviously, but my question stands.”

“I’ll not dignify that with response. Why have you left your post?”

Lucifer chuckled dryly. “Look, Castiel, if you came here to lecture me about—”

“I came to ask you a question.” 

Lucifer waited, watching Castiel shift his weight from foot to foot for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Are you able to hear prayers?”

“I honestly don’t know. I sincerely doubt it, though I daresay nobody has ever tried. Why do you ask?”

“I do… hear them, I mean.”

“Naturally. You run about calling yourself ‘God’ and you’re bound to get some mental interference for it.”

“Yes. I suppose there is a fair bit of noise, but that’s not what I’m referring to. The one voice was clear for a moment. I thought perhaps you were involved.”

“Someone was praying to you, and you thought I was involved? I don’t exactly follow the logic.”

“It was Sam Winchester.”

“Oh.”

Castiel turned to look at Lucifer then, watching his expression with more than a hint of curiosity. “You sound concerned.”

“I am concerned.”

“He wants me to stop my work. He doesn’t understand the necessity of it… But surely you do.”

A small smile crept across Lucifer’s face, and he tilted his head to one side. “Having doubts?”

“No,” Castiel said, too quickly to be convincing. “I simply find the sound of his voice distracting.”

“Tune it out.”

Castiel’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he was too proud and too ashamed to admit that he had thus far been unable to do so. He couldn’t tune any of the strange voices out. He simply endeavored to ignore them as they ran together into a nonsensical hum in his mind. Sam was different though. Sam had been his friend. A look of irritation twisted Castiel’s features when Lucifer stood, forcing Castiel to look up in order to meet his gaze.

“Castiel,” Lucifer whispered, reaching for his younger brother’s shoulder, “if you need to tell me something, you can just say it. You don’t have to—”

“I don’t need anything from you,” Castiel snapped, jerking away from the contact. “I came here as a courtesy, but now I can see that such is wasted on you.”

Lucifer’s brows drew together in confusion as he watched the strange way Castiel moved. He paused. “…What happened to your face? Castiel?”

Castiel shot him an icy glare, lips curling into a frustrated snarl before his expression became totally blank. Lucifer reached for him cautiously, hoping to grab his hand, his arm, the sleeve of his coat, anything, but he was left gripping nothing but the cool air as Castiel vanished from his fingertips.

  
Dean and Bobby found Sam unconscious in the dirt, skin pale and clammy. The front of his face was streaked with blood where it ran from his nose, and his muscles clenched sporadically in a seizure. It took a lot of effort between the two of them to move his body back into the house, a clumsy, awkward, though mostly successful effort. They dropped him on the couch, and his body slumped uselessly, one arm dangling over the edge and a hand resting against the floor. They watched him for hours, watched hum struggle to breathe, watched his body twist in pain, watched as he arched and screamed in response to remembered pain and fear that he couldn’t escape from. Sam stopped breathing more than once. Then, all at once, he became very still.

“Sam…? Sammy? Dammit,” Dean muttered, wiping one hand down his face. “Okay, so, now what?”

Bobby stared at him a little blankly. “What do you mean ‘now what’?”

“I mean what do we do now?”

“Well, usually this is about the time you call—”

“Look, that’s obviously out of the cards now.”

“Have you even tried?”

“Tried what? Bobby, you saw him. That’s not Cas anymore. It’s ‘God’, and as much as I hate it, we’re going to have to…”

“Kill him?” came the soft, only vaguely familiar voice.

Dean turned around slowly, but his worst fear was already confirmed by the expression of horror on Bobby’s face. The Devil looked different, Dean thought, but then again, the last time he’d seen him, he had been wearing Sam’s skin and punching in Dean’s face. Now he looked almost calm. His deep blue eyes held the sort of serene confidence of one who knew that, try as they might, the hunters had no recourse to use against him. Likewise, his face was relaxed, no longer covered by peeling skin and blistering burns. If Dean didn’t know any better, he might have thought that this wasn’t Lucifer at all, maybe just his former vessel, but there was no mistaking the way the air seemed to hum and crackle with energy all around him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted you dead, you would have been a long time ago.”

“Sorry if some of us ain’t finding that too comforting,” Bobby mumbled, averting his gaze instinctively when Lucifer turned to regard him with little more than a slight tilt of his head, almost as if he didn’t even recognize him.

“Oh,” he said, after a moment.

Dean bristled at the nonchalance. “Look, if you’re here for Sammy, you can just—”

“Hardly seems necessary now, does it?” Lucifer asked, giving a hint of a smile as he moved his hand down in one sweeping gesture to the length of his body. “Though I daresay you wouldn’t be able to stop me. You’d do well to learn some courtesy, Dean. You are not immortal.”

Dean swallowed hard, resisting the urge for a sarcastic reply that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out even if he tried. His eyes followed the way Lucifer straightened up from how he was leaning against the wall and reached over to dust off the shoulder of his jacket with a small frown. That was a good opportunity for comment, he thought, but he still couldn’t speak.

“Fortunately enough, Castiel is, which is the only reason he’s made it near so long as he has. Still, if I don’t figure out some way to reverse the mutation—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second.” Dean held his hands up, and Lucifer frowned at having been interrupted. “Mutation? Guy’s God now, or haven’t you heard the good news?”

“Calling oneself a god doesn’t make one a god, but that isn’t exactly the point here. You were with him when it happened, so you can tell me—”

“You’re asking for our help?”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m cutting corners for the sake of sparing time. Besides, it was you who called us, the way I hear it. I figured that was as much of an invitation as I was bound to get.” He watched Dean’s eyes narrow, brows knitting together in confusion, and returned the glance. “Sam’s prayer?”

“Sammy wouldn’t pray to you,” Dean hissed.

“No… probably not, but he did pray to Castiel, and that’s why… I don’t need to explain this to you, Dean. I’m going to talk to Sam.” Lucifer stepped forward in an attempt to move past the two men and into the next room, but Dean cut him off.

“You can’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“What he means is that Sam ain’t up for talking right now?” 

“Why not?”

Dean glared at him harshly. “Oh, I think you know why not.”

“I don’t. He was able to reclaim his soul, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah. He got his soul back, complete with all the torture scars you and Michael left on him.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, and his mouth hung open and useless for several moments in horrified shock. “Is that what you think happened?”

“I know exactly what happened. Sammy’s been reliving it all ever since Cas tore his brain wall down.”

“Brain wall? I suppose that would be temporarily effective in sectioning off the damage. Sam believes the same then?”

“I’m sure he remembers every minute of it.”

Lucifer nodded, fingers rubbing along the line of his jaw thoughtfully. Now wasn’t the time to be upset about this. “I need to see him.”

“No,” Dean snapped, stepping sideways to further block the door with his body and lifting his chin in defiance.

“Dean,” Bobby hissed warningly.

“I understand your hesitation, but Sam will die if you don’t let me see him. I’m an archangel. I can help.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re handing out healings out of the goodness of your heart.”

Lucifer smiled then. It hardly made any difference; they wouldn’t believe that he would heal Sam for nothing even if he tried to convince them. He had expected to be hated and blamed for many things, but there was an opportunity here as well. “You tell me how Castiel got whatever it is that’s crawling around inside of him, and I’ll do what I can for Sam’s wall.”

Dean considered the proposition for less than a second. One glance through the doorway to Sam’s limp form, his pale face, and the fresh trickle of blood and Dean knew. Sam was dying. Hell was killing him. He blew out an agitated breath. “You better fix him…”

When Lucifer first touched Sam, placing two fingers against his temple, nothing seemed to happen. Dean and Bobby both watched with trepidation from the doorway, but deep down, they were asking themselves how much worse it could get. Sam’s body arched off the couch, and he jerked his head sharply to the side, grimacing in pain. Dean started to step forward, eager to pull Lucifer away from Sam, but Bobby caught his arm. Now wasn’t the time to interrupt. 

Sam opened his eyes slowly, staring up at Lucifer through a haze of confusion. “You’re not… You can’t be…”

“It’s alright now, Sam. You’ll be fine. I am sorry it came to this, for what that’s worth, which I’m sure is very little.” Lucifer fixed Sam’s hair back from his eyes before turning away. “We had a deal.”


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel looked at his reflection in the mirror, examined the red, mottled skin under his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He frowned at the clusters of lesions and the crust beginning to form over raw sores. It was an inadequate vessel, he decided, and nothing more. Once he was finished cleaning up the mess that humanity had made of God’s world, he would rest and repair himself. After all, as Castiel recalled it, even his Father had rested after the amount of power demanded by extended periods of creation. It was not weakness, and it certainly wasn’t proof of his own inadequacy. The only thing his body proved was how weak it was, how terribly inconvenient it was to have to wander around on Earth in this form in order to purge it of the filth that had run rampant in the former God’s absence.

“Do you see how I suffer for you, children?” Castiel whispered. “Everything I do is for you. Everything.” He met his own gaze in the mirror, watching his lips curl in an unfamiliar smile as a response came from seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once.

_Cas… Castiel…_

He inhaled sharply through his nose, staring harshly at the mirror as if he expected his reflection to start speaking to him. The voices were inside of him, he was momentarily certain, and yet they seemed to reverberate off the walls of the small room and echo in his ears as much as in his mind.

_Out… Let us out…_

“No. You’re where you belong: here with me.”

Castiel could feel the response inside him, sudden and visceral, the souls shifting around inside him and clawing at the confines of his body. His face twisted almost into a snarl as he looked at his own reflection again, regarding eyes staring back at him from the glass that no longer looked at all like his own.

“Be obedient children,” he whispered. “Be obedient.”

Castiel took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, waiting for the churning inside him to calm before he walked back out into the sun.

A group of people had gathered in the park, all gathered around a central pediment that acted as a small stage. They were mostly quiet, shuffling around each other and bumping elbows as they held up their bright, poster board signs. All eyes were focused on the man on the stage. He was red-faced from having his collar buttoned too tight around his bulging neck, and his cheeks seemed to puff and shake as he spoke.

“And we do not need to be praying for less of these so-called disasters but more! The hurricanes and the earthquakes, the tsunamis and the floods, these are how God cleanses the filth from the earth.”

The crowd cheered, a sudden, uproarious sound, and the man waited until they settled to speak again.

“The lustful. The greedy. The ones who kill babies and call it medicine. The sodomites and the homosexuals trying to corrupt our children. These are the people that need to be wiped off the face of the earth!”

Another eruption issued forth from the crowd, but this time the man held up his hands to silence them.

“Pray with me, brothers and sisters. Pray with me for another flood, another storm, another Katrina. Pray with me for God to extend his righteous fury down and smite those unworthy of living in His glorious kingdom.”

“Who are you to speak for God?”

The crowd turned, all falling silence at once as their eyes took in the strange lines of redness stretching around deep blue eyes. Castiel stepped past them with little regard for the staring, pushing his way to the forefront of the group to look up at the man directly.

“Who are you to speak for God?” he asked again.

“This is God’s word, son.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I am not your son, and these are not my words. You champion yourself as a mouthpiece for God, but what you are spewing is maliciousness and hatred. The disasters you speak of were incidents of nature, not holy wrath, and how dare you delight in the suffering of your kin. How dare you pray to me to ask for more.”

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“I’m God. Your God, and I will not tolerate this behavior in my kingdom. You speak hatred and violence in my name. That is the worst sort of blasphemy.”

Castiel tilted his head, watching as the man’s eyes bulged suddenly. His hands went up to tug at the collar of his shirt, nails scraping uselessly against fabric and flesh in an attempt to dislodge whatever was choking him. He couldn’t. Gurgling noises rose up from his throat, desperate attempts to breathe, and his mouth gaped open like a black void, tongue wedged too far back in the hollow of his throat to be visible. As his skin begin to flush purple, the crowd murmured in discontent, a few stepping forward as if to investigate. They were instantly stricken with the same affliction, bodies tensing sharply at the sudden expulsion of air from their lungs and the twisting of their own muscle in the backs of their throats. The speaker was the first one to fall, tumbling from his stance above them and landing face down in the dirt, one hand still wrapped around the front of his own neck. The rest followed one by one, gasping and writhing as the fell until Castiel was surrounded by a small sea of blue-lipped corpses staring at nothing.

“Hatred and blasphemy are not tolerated,” he whispered. He closed his eyes in the emerging silence. It was done. Lucifer would deal with these people, in time.

_Cas… Cas…_

“No. I will not hear anymore from you.”

_But the devil… the devil…_

Castiel opened his eyes, half expecting to face whomever was trying to speak to him.

_Where is your devil right now…?_

* * *

The old lab had a strange chill. The air had a putrid stench of death to it, heightened by coppery undertones that wafted from the smears and streaks of blood that colored the dingy, off-white walls and floors. What had once been Raphael was still there, chunks of gore splattered and pooled across the opposite side of the room. Lucifer froze when he saw that. He knew whose body that was, and it took no more than a glance to tell him how the death had occurred. He stood motionless, letting the sickening chill spread throughout his bones and settle down at his core.

_I am so sorry, brother._

There was nothing for it now. In spite of this, Castiel was still alive. Lucifer had to save at least the one. He laid down the small collection of papers and books he’d taken from Dean, and while he was sure the boy had more information he was withholding, what he had would be enough. The bloody symbol on the wall gave him more than enough to go on, though the dog blood was a bit perplexing. Over the next hour, he began to piece things together. Purgatory had been shut off for a reason, of course. The twisted souls of once human monsters were more than enough reason to keep the place closed, but Lucifer remembered the Leviathan. He was old enough to recall catching glimpses of them as they ravaged any environment that God allowed them. They tore and devoured, destroyed and consumed. They soaked worlds in their filth until no other life could survive there, and then they would simply seek out something new to gnaw upon. They were the reason that door could never be opened, but perhaps Castiel had been too young to remember. Perhaps the Leviathan, like so many other things, had simply become a grotesque fairy tale in his mind, a story the archangels told of the time before thousands of angels lit up the heavens. Perhaps Castiel believed he could control them. He couldn’t.

The smell of blood was suddenly stronger, accompanied by a buzz of heat that carried with it a sickening sweetness. Lucifer turned slowly. Castiel’s face was mere inches from his. The strange aroma was clearly emanating from his decaying vessel. The burns had crept up his neck and spread across his face, causing his flesh to darken and peel. It was difficult to tell where Castiel’s own wounds ended and the blood of his slaughters began. The sticky red soaked into his clothes and dripped along his flesh. Castiel tilted his head slowly, a twitching, deliberate motion, and his lips pulled back into a snarl.

“I knew you would betray me.”

Lucifer stared at him, eyes wide. He had seen an overburdened vessel begin to disintegrate; he had been inside a vessel that began to fall apart under the magnitude of his power, but never anything like this. “What happened to you?” he whispered.

“Treason, apparently.” Castiel held a hand up and sent the table toppling sideways with the small gesture. The books and papers scattered across the floor, and Lucifer was nearly knocked off the chair he was sitting in. Castiel watched him recover himself, glaring and waiting until their eyes met again. “You want them for your own, I suppose. You want to take them from me.”

“Take them? Now, do you mean the Purgatory souls or the Leviathan?”

Castiel’s face spasmed in frustration. Leviathan wasn’t a word he necessarily remembered the implications of, and he couldn’t fathom any real difference between what Leviathan might be and what any other Purgatory soul was. None of it was relevant. They were his now. They were more than his. They were a part of him. Castiel’s nostrils flared as he drew in a slow, deliberate breath.

“The souls will be staying with me, Lucifer. You would do well not to question me in the future, that is assuming I am willing to forgive this particular incident of insubordination. I have not quite decided.”

Lucifer felt his chest expand with the sharp breath he took. The threat of Hell, of the Cage, was enough to make his temper flair and instigate him into defending himself, but he needed to push that instinct down. He had destroyed Castiel in the fit of a blind rage once before, and he had no desire to do so again. His eyes moved in keen evaluation, trying to see past the confines of Castiel’s vessel, trying to see where the monsters ended and the grace began, but the little light he sought was so strangled, so subjugated by the power overwhelming it that Lucifer couldn’t properly feel anything of an angel there at all.

“Look what they’re doing to you, Castiel.”

“Doing to me? _Doing to me_?” Castiel laughed, cold and bitter. “You’re jealous. You’re jealous of how powerful I am. You’re jealous that I did what you never could.”

“Those things are eating you alive. …You’re falling apart, little brother.”

“You think you could contain them better? You think you would be more fit to rule than I am?”

“That’s not—”

“I. Am. God.” Castiel lifted his chin, eyes blazing behind a sheen of madness. “Bow down and profess your love to me, Lucifer.”

“You’re my brother. Of course I love—”

“No. No! That’s not what I said. Bow down, Lucifer, or…” Castiel’s face twisted with pain. He could feel the tissue in the back of his throat blistering and peeling as though the tiniest reverberations of his true voice had shredded the skin. Castiel opened his mouth, and blood dribbled past his lips.

“You’re sick,” Lucifer whispered, hazarding a step forward. “Let me help you.”

_Don’t let him touch us!_

Castiel’s head snapped up, and he stared, eyes wide and mouth red.

_He is a liar and a snake. He is fallen and corrupt. He mustn’t touch us… mustn’t touch us._

“…Mustn’t touch…”

“Castiel? What are you talking about?”

_He wants to destroy us. He takes us away. He’ll damn us._

“You’ll damn us.”

Lucifer lifted his eyebrows. “Us…? Listen to yourself. They’re trying to control you.”

_Lies! He lies!_

“You’re lying!” Castiel’s body contorted, trying to draw up the amount of power that would be necessary to mount an attack on the archangel, but he could feel his insides growing hot, twisting with something foreign and dark. The voices in his head shrieked, then giggled, then cooed.

_Not yet. Soon, little birdie. Soon. Fly away now. Fly away._

By the time Lucifer reached for Castiel, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel knew he shouldn’t have trusted Lucifer. The entire plan had evidently been a fool’s errand, and now that the Devil was free, he surely had designs on taking the souls for himself and declaring himself God in Castiel’s place. The easiest solution would have been to kill him. Castiel imagined it a thousand times over. Theoretically, he should have been able to merely snap his fingers and obliterate Lucifer’s body and grace in one final gesture, yet whenever he thought about it, really thought about it, something inside him balked at the idea. What if he couldn’t? After all, Lucifer had been right before; he was the second-born angel, a near equal match to Michael. The power gap between him and Raphael was likely far more immense than Castiel could fathom. On the other hand, he was God, or so he continually tried to convince himself, and everything should easily fall before him. Killing Lucifer should just be another task, he reasoned, another bit of cleaning up that needed to be done in order to create his beautiful utopia. The energy inside him churned.

_Kill him? You can’t. You can’t._

“I can,” Castiel murmured under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The skin on his back was beginning to blister and peel, making leaning back sharply uncomfortable. “I can, and I will.”

 _No, no, no._ _You cannot. We can._

Castiel sat very still, considering the words, a flicker of doubt curling inside of him.

_Cas. Cas. We are one. We will help you._

“…Help me?”

_Our power. Your power. We will—_

“Excuse me, sir?”

Castiel snapped his head sideways to look, eyes moving slowly upwards from a momentarily fixed gaze on the hand touching his shoulder to regard the woman looking back at him. She smiled at him with a false sweetness, and when she tilted her head, the light caught on the gold of the crucifix hanging around her neck by a dainty little chain.

“Sir, I’m afraid we’re closing up now. If you need help with something—”

“I need to speak to the leader of your organization.”

“Our organization?”

“You call it a church, but it is not a church. You besmear my name and my intent by referring to yourselves as such.”

The woman pulled out of the seemingly kind touch, straightening her back and lifting her chin. Her jaw was tight, and her painted red lips were pressed into a thin line that revealed the feathering of her makeup at the corners of her mouth.

“I need to speak with him,” Castiel insisted.

“You need to leave. Don’t make me call security.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“No, sir, I think it’s you who needs to listen to me.”

Castiel was momentarily taken aback by her tone. This woman marketed herself as a good woman, a kind woman, a woman of God, and yet she spoke cruelly and with defiance. Wrath bubbled up inside him.

_Destroy her._

Castiel pushed himself upright, feet shuffling against the carpet as he half walked, half shambled towards her. “I need to see him. I _demand_ to see him.”

Her pupils dilated, and she took a hesitant step backwards. A chill spread gooseflesh across her skin, and the nape of her neck began to dampen. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, sending some signal to the receptionist watching from behind a glass panel, indicating that security should be called. “Get out. Now!” she cried, but Castiel didn’t hear her. All he was focused on was how the surge of adrenaline was changing her smell.

_Consume._

His lips pulled back into what might have been intended as a smile, but the corners of his mouth rose too far and pushed his cheeks until his eyes were more narrowed than crinkled with delight. The tip of his tongue traced along the edges of his lips until his expression was a glistening, macabre grin.

 _Destroy her,_ the voices ordered him again. _Consume her._

A broken, crackling laugh bubbled up from Castiel’s chest, erupting even more loudly as his mouth opened wide, jaw unhinging slightly to give him the opening he needed. Pale skin split beneath his teeth, and blood foamed and spurted across his tongue. Castiel’s laughter become something of a snarl as he latched onto her throat, waiting for enough blood to run forth so that she stopped screaming, stopped fighting. The woman’s body was flailing madly, arms and legs flapping in futile attempts to dislodge him, but she only succeeded in toppling backwards, landing on her back and enabling him to more easily hold her in place. The only thing that broke his concentration was the sharp blow to the side of his head. Castiel reeled, head snapping to the side to face the security guard. The man blanched, taking a half step backwards in the face of what could only be called a monster.

_Him too. Consume him too._

Castiel needed no further urging. He sprang at the man, pouncing on him with enough force to send him into the wall. The man screamed as impossibly sharp teeth raked his flesh, pulling his cheek off before turning to tear at the rest of his face. He didn’t scream long.

More people came, guards and various personnel, each one trying to get a grip on Castiel’s arching, twisting body, but each new face, each touch was punctuated by the same command echoing inside his mind.

_Consume. Consume.Consume.Consume._

Flesh tore. Bones snapped. Blood bubbled up and ran down Castiel’s throat. He bit. He licked. He sucked the blood down and gnashed skin between his teeth. All the while, his meal was accompanied by the strangely foreign sounding and distinctly maniacal cackling that filled the entire room.

 _More,_ the voices demanded. _Give us more._

Castiel crawled from body to body, heedless of his own blood dripping from his nose to join that on his chin or the slippery black fluid that had begun to leak from the corners of his eyes.

_Consume. Devour. Feed us! You feed us!_

And Castiel did. He ate and ate and ate, consumed and devoured and fed, fueling the madness growing inside him until the laughter in his head drowned out the screaming and Castiel was no longer sure which voice was his.

When Castiel awoke, the first thing he noticed was the weight draped across his body. He blinked his eyes open and was met with the shredded face of one of the clerks from the earlier evening. His neck was snapped, tilting his chin at an odd angle, and it too was snapped and dislodged from its socket, barely held in place by reddened strands of thinly stretched muscle. Castiel gave a sharp cry and recoiled backwards, wriggling out from underneath the corpse and attempting to crawl away on his elbows, but he immediately collided with another body. The receptionist still had pieces of glass lodged in her arms and shoulders where he had pulled her through the panel that had been intended to protect her. Over half of her face was gone, cheeks torn off and skin peeled away to leave nothing but exposed, bloody tissue. Most of the other bodies were in similar condition. They were faceless and broken and torn, strewn all around him in a grotesque display. Worse still, Castiel could still feel the blood coating his tongue and the bits of flesh clinging to his teeth and throat. He turned over and retched horribly, trying to scream as he did so, but only succeeding in making a panicked choking noise before his stomach twisted to dislodge more bloody bile.

He crawled on his hands and knees, gagging and sobbing as he searched through the piles of half eaten bodies, desperate to find one, just one he could save. Maybe someone would wake up and tell him that he hadn’t done this, that something else had come into the lobby while he was waiting, and that his own memories of devouring human flesh were nothing more than a panicked nightmare. But nobody moved. Castiel fell then, lay face down on the floor with his arms wrapped tight around his own body. His fingers trembled as they dug into his own flesh, trying to quell the sick churning of his insides. It didn’t work. Castiel screamed, a sharp, ragged noise that was ripped out of his throat by his own desperation as he crawled to a vacant corner and shoved his fingers down his throat. The world blurred before his eyes as the tears welled up, and his throat clenched around his fingers several times, but nothing came up.

_Cas. Caaaaas._

He curled up on the floor there, hopeless and alone, and cried until the room stopped spinning.

* * *

The table was littered with books and papers. They contained the wisdom of prophets as well as the ramblings of madmen, but Lucifer was usually keen enough to be able to tell the difference. It didn’t matter much; neither of them seemed to have any information about dislodging the host of souls from Castiel’s vessel. Theoretically, that much power contained in the body would eventually overwhelm it. The vessel would explode, but Lucifer wasn’t entirely sure if that explosion would destroy the monsters within. What he was confident of, however, was the fact that his younger brother would likely be the first casualty of such a disaster. He curled a fist and leaned his chin against his hand, adding yet another page to the madman pile and reaching for the next in his dwindling stack of prospects.

The noise startled him, especially as it was unheralded by any tangible energy crackling through the air. There was a flutter and a crash, then a scratching, dragging sound of wet fabric sliding across the floor. Lucifer jumped upright, flicking his wrist to bring a blade to his hand, and rounded the corner with his muscles tight and coiled in preparation for combat, but what he found was hardly a threat. At first, he thought Castiel was dead from the way he was hunched over and not moving. His clothes were stained various shades of red, from bright crimson all the way to dirty rust, and his eyes, nose, and ears seemed to be dribbling a heavy black sludge. His chest expanded suddenly, lungs struggling with a ragged, shaky breath that was punctuated by a thick, wet cough. Castiel looked up, a film of black clouding over his eyes.

“…I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Lucifer stared quietly for a moment before tucking the sword away and kneeling down. “What happened?” he whispered, pulling the cuffs of his sleeves down past his fingers to try to soak up some of the filth on Castiel’s nose and mouth, hopefully freeing his airways enough that he could respond.

Castiel leaned into the touch. He opened his mouth to let Lucifer’s fingers slip past to free loose the blood and blackness, drawing in a sharp, deep breath as soon as he was able. “They’re hungry,” he mumbled.

“They?”

“The souls. They want more. They want me to eat everything.” Castiel swallowed thickly. “…They want me to eat you.”

“Well, don’t do that.”

“I’m trying. It’s so hard. They’re so loud, and I just… I don’t know what to do.” His head fell forward, and the tears that fell from his eyes were cloudy with blackness.

“Castiel, listen to me,” Lucifer said, fingers cupping Castiel’s chin and turning his face upwards. “I’m going to help you, but you’re going to have to let me help you. Do you understand?”

Castiel nodded. “I just want it to stop. I just want them out.”

“Good. That’s good. We’re going to get them out then.”

“I’ll do anything. Just get them out. Please get them out.” Another sob shook Castiel’s body, and he sagged forward.

Lucifer caught him, pulling him forward and cradling Castiel’s head against his shoulder. “Shh, I will. I promise, little brother. I promise.”

Lucifer was fortunate enough to find that Crowley or whoever had been assisting him there kept a well-stocked pantry of exceedingly rare items. Thus, he only had to leave Castiel once to gather components for the spell he would need, and he was loathe to do even that, watching how his eyes had fluttered closed where he lie on a pallet of old blankets in the corner, breath uneven and ragged. Occasionally, his face would twist with pain and his eyes would snap open in a sudden panic. He settled when his eyes fell on Lucifer, bent over the table busily compiling ingredients and reworking the spell. Castiel only ever spoke once.

“Please hurry.”

The contents of the little silver bowl sparked and smoldered, staunchly fragrant smoke wafting up and hanging in a cloud around the room. It did little to mask the putrid scent already hanging in the air but rather mingled with it and made it all the more heavy and sickening. Lucifer stepped back, holding his hands up with his palms facing out and intoning a string of disjointed syllables from a long forgotten language. His grace shined through, fueling the spell with his own essence, and for a moment, the room was flooded with light as his power stretched to the very confines of his skin, wings unfurling in a massive display behind him. He was a bit breathless when he finished, bracing himself on the edge of the table for a moment before returning to Castiel’s side. He knelt down and rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

The question hardly needed asking for how pale and sickly Castiel looked. He opened his eyes slowly, licking his lips before he spoke. “It hurts.”

Lucifer nodded quietly as he brushed sweaty bangs back from Castiel’s forehead and offered him a drink of water.

“Is it time now?”

“In just a little while, Castiel. Moving the stars around takes an immense amount of power. It requires time no matter who you are.”

Castiel leaned forward to drink again, eager to wash the taste of death from his mouth.

“There, now,” Lucifer whispered, wiping the soiled droplets from his lips. “You’re alright now.”

“I’m frightened.”

“That’s alright.”

“Will you… will you stay with me?”

“I’m right here.”

“No, no, I mean… at the end, will you stay? I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to—”

“Lucifer. Please…?”

“You’re my little brother, Castiel. I wouldn’t leave you now for anything in the world. We’re partners in this, right? We’re going to finish it together.”

Castiel closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into Lucifer’s palm.

_Cas…. Cas…tiel…_

His eyes snapped open, and Castiel reached frantically to grab Lucifer’s shoulder, bunching up his jacket in bloody, shaking fingers.

“What’s wrong? Castiel?”

“Keep talking. Please keep talking. I can’t…”

Lucifer shushed him, smoothing his hair down and holding him close. He held Castiel’s hand in one of his while the other combed fingers through perspiration soaked hair. Instead of talking, he began to whisper the words to an old Enochian lullaby, a song of praise that heralded the creation of the Milky Way galaxy. Castiel relaxed, resting his head on Lucifer’s legs, and together, they waited for the eclipse.

  


Castiel could have slept for hours, days, weeks. He didn’t know. It was as peaceful as he’d felt since he’d first fallen from Heaven years ago. Even as he rested, he could feel the energy, the souls churning around inside of him. Some seemed anxious to leave, but many others seemed to be bracing for the inevitable release, clawing at his insides and struggling to hold on there. The unified whispering inside of him had long tapered off to a chorus of indistinguishable voices. It was just a hum, almost buried by the serenity of Lucifer’s voice singing a song that Castiel hadn’t heard since he was a mere fledgling in Heaven.

“Castiel. It’s time.”

He opened his eyes, squinting against the light after his long sleep. He could see the symbols on the wall, painted in the last bit of blood scraped from a nearly empty jar, and the smell of the old spell was still lingering in the air around him. Castiel tried to move, but his legs refused to work. A small, frustrated whimper issued forth from his throat, prompting Lucifer to bend slightly and hoist him up.

“I’ve got you, little brother,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Lucifer’s arm tight around him, Castiel shambled across the room to what seemed to be a crude altar to his own destruction.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I know. It’s almost over.”

“What do I do?”

“Just let them go. Force them out if you have to.”

Castiel nodded, swaying slightly when Lucifer stepped back to the small table, instantly missing that point of reassuring contact.

“Lucifer…? Don’t leave me.”

“Right here, Little Thursday. Right here.” Lucifer took a deep breath and faced the symbol on the wall. “Ready?”

Castiel’s body shook with a small, involuntary shudder, and he gave another solemn nod.

“ _Ianua magna Purgatorii, clausa est ob nos lumine eius ab oculis nostris retento sed nunc stamus ad limen huius ianuae magnae et demisse fideliter perhonorifice paramus aperire eam. Creaturae terrificae quarum ungulae et dentes nunquam tetigerunt carnem eius ad mundum nostrum nunc ianua magna, aperta tandem!_ ”

The doorway seemed even more immense the second time, a yawning chasm that stretched between worlds. Before, it had been another realm, a place teeming with activity and energy, but as it stood before Castiel for the second time, it was nothing more than a gaping void. Some of the souls seemed to recognize the lure of Purgatory trying to draw them back in. Some eagerly fled the confines of his rotting, burning vessel to seek the reprieve of the eternal forest, but others struggled to remain outside, longing for the fresh smell of Earth’s air at least one more time. Castiel’s grace swelled within him, stoked by both fear and an aching need to purge the monsters crawling around his insides. He pushed, forcing them out in one glorious burst of white light. A flash of grace and souls mingled in the air creating a bridge between the core of his body and the doorway to the other side for a mere instant. Castiel dropped. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he didn’t move anymore. The door to Purgatory slammed shut.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucifer sat on the floor at Castiel’s side for a long time. He smoothed his hair back and whispered to him, soft pleas repeated over and over. Open your eyes. Wake up. Come back. Please. Castiel didn’t, and when his bloody, battered body failed to draw breath and multiple attempts to heal him proved futile, Lucifer ducked his head down and wept quietly. One more sibling claimed by the wars. One more little brother he couldn’t save. One more lost child that God had forgotten and abandoned. A single blasphemous thought crossed his mind then: Castiel had been a false and terrible god, but at least he had seen fit to try. At least he had cared.

Lucifer was contemplating what to do with his brother’s body when his chest expanded with breath and his eyelashes fluttered. No longer burdened by the swarm of monsters, his grace responded to the damage to his vessel, and the damaged skin began to knit itself back together. His eyes snapped open.

“Oh…” He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, groping blindly for assistance until Lucifer, momentarily struck dumb, reached to pull him upright. Castiel filled his lungs with air again, stretching his chest as wide as he could with the deepest breath his lungs were capable of holding. “Oh, yes. I see. I see…”

“Are you alright?” Lucifer asked, reaching to touch his cheek, brushing away blood and dirt to reveal the smooth, undamaged skin underneath.

Castiel’s lips split in a smile, and he reached out again, prompting Lucifer to take his hands once more and help him to his feet. “Yes. Yes, thank you. This is _much_ better.”

Lucifer took a slow, hesitant step backwards, brows knitting together in concern and confusion. “…Castiel?”

A low chuckle rippled up from Castiel’s chest, and he tilted his head all the way to one side as his grin broadened. “Sorry. Baby brother can’t come to the phone right now.” Castiel’s eyes were blown wide, dilated with excitement at the fresh sensation of freedom. Branching lines of blackness began to creep up his neck, spreading like thin veins across his skin and inching upwards towards his face.

“Get out of him.”

The Leviathan rolled Castiel’s eyes, pressed his lips together as if in careful thought, and then grinned again. One hand extended, and the force of the invisible impact on Lucifer’s chest was so strong that it sent him flying into the opposite wall, bricks and mortar crumbling at the heavy impact. “Sorry, Luci. Leviathan beats archangel, and we’ve gotten _so_ comfortable in here. Oh, you should hear him _scream_.”

Lucifer snarled as he forced himself upright, pushing his body out of the crumbling wall behind him. “Leave him alone.”

“Poor little Morning Star,” the Leviathan cooed. “You never did learn to listen. We like it here. It’s cozy. Such a pretty little light. You’re all such pretty, pretty little lights. You don’t understand what it’s like to be locked in the darkness.”

A small, bitter laugh barely eased its way out of Lucifer’s throat as he watched the creature, or creatures, inhabiting Castiel’s form. Every step was deliberate, calculated to keep their position, but there was something distinctly unnatural about the way they moved the body. Their shared head twitched more than tilted, and their feet turned at oddly sharp angles as they shuffled their footsteps along, sidestepping to block what they believed to be a potential escape attempt. Their head lolled oddly to the other side, neck stretching and craning as they regarded Lucifer’s movements.

“Oh, but this one does, perhaps…? Yes, yes, we remember. The fallen star. The little rebel. The bringer of light thrust down into the darkness. We should not fight, no, no. Work _together_. We do want the same things.”

“You have only one thing I want.”

“Is that so? You’ve no craving for revenge then? After all, Daddy locked you away too.”

Lucifer moved slowly, beginning his own sideways pacing around his opponent. “That’s not a fair comparison. You were sealed away because—”

“Because we are monsters? Indeed, as are you. The mighty prince said so himself. Lucifer is a monster. Lucifer is a _freak_.”

The words incensed him, as was obvious by the sharpness with which his eyes narrowed into icy blue slits, but Lucifer was a being of patience. Usually, that was his advantage, but the Leviathan had been waiting for an opportunity for longer than even he had. Thus, in this particular case, Lucifer would have to rely on training, on military discipline, on his creation as a Heavenly weapon. He was radiant, holy, experienced in combat— clearly the superior fighter, if not the superior being, and as the two eyed each other up, the realization settled upon them. But the Leviathan realized something else in the same instant: Lucifer had a horrible, glaring weakness.

They tilted their head back sharply, shoulders dropping to a slackened position and mouth hanging agape as if their muscles had been seized.

“Lucifer… brother… Help me.” The gasping voice was clearly Castiel’s, and it was enough to throw Lucifer’s concentration, all the severity draining from his face in the wake of a stunned, conflicted look. The Leviathan waited for him to take a half step forward, hands extended as if to reach to hold or comfort, before they struck him with another blow to the core of his body. Unprepared, Lucifer was easily overwhelmed, landing with a loud crash and even more damage to the cracked walls. The monsters wearing Castiel’s skin cackled gleefully. “You should have seen your face.”

Lucifer was more than a little ashamed for having fallen for, what was in hindsight, a fairly obvious trick, but it was one he had no intention of repeating. He rolled over to regain his footing, crouching briefly before pushing upright in one fluid motion. The air moved with the force of his wings, and the Leviathan found themselves pressed face first into a wall as Lucifer was simply suddenly behind them without visible motion.

“I’m warning you,” he whispered, fingers bearing into the back of their neck, icy with grace and blackening skin with the early beginnings of frostbite. “Let my little brother go.”

“Or what?” the Leviathan sneered. “You’ll kill him? Again?”

Lucifer’s face twitched, and his fingers dug in even more sharply.

That provoked a hollow laugh. “Oh, yes, little star. We see everything in here. How much he fears you. How much he loathes you.”

“Be that as it may, he is still my brother, and I will not let you have him.”

“We already have him.” The Leviathan wrenched free an arm, slinging it backwards in a single strike while trying to break the impossible grip Lucifer held on their one body. It didn’t work. The hit was enough to turn his head, enough to eventually leave a glaring bruise on the swell of his cheek, but nowhere near enough to break his hold. They arched backwards then, head ramming back so that the crown of their head collided with Lucifer’s face. The small crunching noise and the flow of warm moisture that dampened their hair enthralled them, and the monsters started writhing in earnest to escape the grip. They repositioned enough to turn, and their jaws opened quickly before snapping shut around the flesh of Lucifer’s shoulder. His skin snapped, and his hold broke. The monsters reeled on him, making yet another attempt to throw him across the room, but that time, Lucifer was ready for them. His wings expanded, bracing him and halting the motion before he reversed it, using his momentum to hurl his body back into theirs.

The impact of Lucifer’s body against that of the Leviathan sent both of them tumbling to the floor. The Leviathan scrambled for a dominant position, attempting to hold the struggling archangel down into place. Castiel’s face was gone in an instant, replaced by rows of razor sharp teeth and a writhing, bifurcated tongue. Lucifer jerked sharply, trying to avoid the bite tearing open his throat. He managed to lift one arm and provide a somewhat less lethal target for the strike. Having one arm crushed in their jaws gave him the momentary distraction he needed to bring his other hand up to the side of the smooth, unfamiliar face. His palm glowed with frigid white energy, grace channeling through his fingertips and forcing the Leviathan to drop their hold on his arm in order to emit an agonized, piercing howl. That amount of grace shouldn’t effect Castiel terribly, but for creatures such as the Leviathan, direct contact with the concentrated power of an archangel was near unbearable, even briefly. Lucifer’s legs came up, knees pushing into the Leviathan’s chest with enough force to hurl them off of him.

They emitted a frustrated shriek as they rolled across the floor, this one emphasized by the way their face split open once more. They hesitated though, somewhat reluctant to commit to another struggle. Instead, they crawled slowly sideways, stalking him like prey and licking their lips as if they hoped that some of that miraculous power would seep out of his blood. It was a necessary reprieve. Neither party had a sufficient enough upper-hand to sacrifice the opportunity to catch its breath. Lucifer was more adept at masking pain, and he stood upright first, chin held high with pride and authority as he glared down at the swarm of beasts that had dared to mar an angel with their touch.

“Out,” he said simply. “Now.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” the Leviathan hissed. “He’s already dead.”

Lucifer’s intake of breath was unintentionally sharp, but he knew that was bait, intended to rile him and goad him into making another costly mistake. He could feel his blood continuing to leak past unhealing wounds, and he felt strangely stagnated by the seemingly acidic black slime the monsters spouted— he couldn’t afford another mistake.

Bloody teeth flashed in another cruel smile as the Leviathan too picked themselves up. “He cried for you. He begged you to save him, pleaded with his monstrous outcast of a big brother for help. But alas, poor Little Thursday.” The creatures paused, chuckled darkly. “We gobbled him up.”

The taunting had the desired effect, but the Leviathan had severely underestimated the force of the impact. They screamed all at once, kicking and thrashing in another attempt to get away. One hit landed hard enough to daze Lucifer for a split second, but that was all it took for the Leviathan to worm their way out of his grip. They slid across the floor, more dragging themselves along than properly crawling and leaving a trail of sticky black filth as they went. Seeing the monsters making an effort to escape, Lucifer stretched forward, hands clutching in a firm hold around what had been Castiel’s midsection. His fingers pressed in harshly, and when he felt the bones beneath his hands yielding to the pressure, he understood. The vessel was giving out.

Lucifer forced more grace into his hold, hoping for something of an exorcismal effect. The response was abrupt and violent. The body in his arms jerked and spasmed erratically. Their spine arched, and their arms bent backwards disjointedly in an attempt to dislodge him. Lucifer held tight even as the black liquid began to drip out of Castiel’s ears, nose, and mouth. The momentary horror of seeing his brother with black eyes stunned him, and Lucifer was caught on the neck by the Leviathan’s wildly snapping jaws. Blood gushed past the wound on his torn throat, and the room spun before his eyes. Lucifer managed one last push of grace before the haze of pain slowed his mind and pulled his consciousness asunder.

 

Lucifer didn’t allow himself to rest. He continued to struggle, continued to fight even after the pressure on his chest was relieved and the horrible agony in his neck began to abate. He rolled over as he came to, pushing himself upright on his hands and glancing around the room. He didn’t see Castiel, nor anything else masquerading in his flesh, but he did notice the growing puddles of black that led a trail outside.

Castiel’s body was breaking down at an alarming rate. There was too much energy, too many Leviathan souls still swirling around inside his body for it to repair the torn muscles and broken bones from the fight. The little Morning Star had proven more formidable than they had planned, but that was no longer of import. Once they were out of this decaying corpse, he would be properly dealt with. The Leviathan stumbled onward, feet slipping in the inky dribbles that they leaked from every opening, every pore of Castiel’s body. The water reservoir ahead promised two things: relief and escape. Already, they could hear Lucifer following them, calling out his lost little brother’s name in vain, but the body felt unusually heavy, and moving any faster would simply be impossible.

The angel had been quiet for some time, smothered and subjugated from within. At first, they had missed his horrified wailing, but when his consciousness flickered in response to his name, there was nothing but annoyance in response. He wasn’t strong enough to grab control back, though he had made an amusing effort from the start. It was, in a way, endearing how Castiel believed that Lucifer would overwhelm these things that he saw as mere monsters.

 _We are not monsters,_ they crooned in his mind once more. _We are the Old Ones, and soon, this Earth will be ours. Goodbye, angel._

Castiel tried to scream when the water splashed up around his neck, but he was effortlessly held fast by their power. Water filled his mouth and nose, first washing away the blood and filth and then choking him with it. He struggled. He fought hard with everything he had, but as his head went beneath the water, his light went out.

Lucifer rounded the corner just in time to see Castiel become completely submerged. There was no rational thought behind his actions, just fiercely protective instinct. He dove into the water, swimming down and groping through the darkness until his fingers caught the faint warmth of Castiel’s wrist. He scrabbled to get a grip, but the offshoots of black, the Leviathan springing forth from Castiel’s limp body seemed insistent upon driving them apart. They coiled around him and tried to push past his lips, eager for the power of an archangel’s vessel, but Lucifer held firm. He hooked his arms under Castiel’s shoulders and pulled until he managed to dislodge him from the power pinning him down below.

Their heads broke the surface at once. Lucifer drew a sharp breath, but Castiel didn’t. He simply sagged against his brother’s arm. They were pummeled by Leviathan from every side, some attempting to pull them under and others attempting to take their forms, but none could get a grip on them with their heads above the water. Castiel’s lower body was knocked about like a rag doll, but his head rested safely against Lucifer’s shoulder. He seemed to weigh more than he should, but that was unfamiliar fatigue playing tricks on Lucifer’s mind. With immense effort, he managed to drag them both to safety, hefting Castiel up out of the water before lifting himself out as well.

Castiel’s skin was a sick gray color, and his lips were a pale blue. “Come on, little brother. Come on.” Lucifer pushed his fingers past Castiel’s lips, reaching to dislodge the sludge that covered his throat and blocked his airway. Castiel responded with a choked gurgle, spewing blood and blackness and filthy water as he struggled to breathe. Lucifer pulled his jacket off, bundling it around Castiel’s body and gathering him up in his arms. He cast one more look at the water, gaping as the blackness rose to the top like an oil spill before shooting off in every direction at once.

The Leviathan were free.


	7. Chapter 7

The world was spinning, stretching and spiraling in every direction all at once. Castiel’s mind was a yawning chasm, an abyss of darkness and the faint echoes of screaming. He couldn’t recognize his own voice, not for how distorted it was by the water that kept him pinned. Hands gripped at him. Claws scraped his flesh, hooking in to hold him beneath the surface, and he could not breathe. There was no air to scream with. Castiel floundered. The only thing he could do was kick and flail and try to reach the surface. His eyes snapped open, and there was light. A rush of air filled his lungs all at once, and he bolted upright to look around. It was darker than he had expected, quiet too. He was cold, and he was alone, but he was alive.

As his senses returned to him, Castiel realized that he was not lying at the bottom of a lake as he had been dreaming. He was not lying on muddy ground or the cold, tile floors of an old lab. It was a plush bed with a soft duvet peeking out between the layers of towels that had been laid across it to soak up the residual water that drenched Castiel to his core. He looked around, taking in the surroundings: the double beds, the pre-labeled phone, the strange lock on the door, and the pad on the table with a company emblem— a hotel.

There was a robe at the foot of the bed, monogrammed with what Castiel assumed to be the hotel’s logo or initials. He realized then how wet he was, that the only thing keeping him even remotely warm was the vaguely familiar jacket wrapped around his shoulders. Lucifer’s coat, he thought, though it was hard to tell with how waterlogged and wrinkled it was in comparison to how pristine the archangel had always kept it. It was warm though, which was a comfort until Castiel realized that he needed it to be warm. He was cold. That wasn’t right.

He stumbled when he tried to stand, barely catching himself on the side table as he crept around the room, checking around the corner and through the bathroom for any sign of life. His throat felt raw, coated with some poison, and when he realized that he could still faintly taste a coppery hint of blood, Castiel ran into the bathroom and heaved over the toilet. Bile, dirty water, then blood. He scrambled backwards, lips still coated with acid, trying to scream. Nothing happened. Panicking, he fled to the door, trying desperately to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge. The lock was completely jammed, welded in place by some distinctly otherworldly force. He ran for the window, but one glance was enough to tell him that, even if he did succeed in breaking out, the fall would kill him, especially as he was now: broken, weak, powerless.

Castiel crumbled to the floor and let out a choked, heartbroken wail. Trapped. He was trapped. And why shouldn’t he be, after what he had done? He didn’t bother to go back to the bed, just lay down there on the floor and cried helplessly. He wished the world would stop spinning.

It was a peculiar sensation, being picked up. Castiel hadn’t been carried since he was a fledgling in Heaven, and those memories were so old and forgotten that they were borderline to repressed. Yet someone was certainly carrying him. He could feel hands sliding underneath his body, one arm curling underneath his shoulders and shifting him to support his head. Whoever it was had cold hands, and yet they were strong and remarkably careful with him. He knew who it was on some level, of course, and perhaps he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t. It took a great deal of effort to blink his eyes open, and then he just stared up blankly.

Lucifer barely glanced down at him. “I leave you here with a nice bed and a warm robe to put on, and you instead lie on the floor in cold, wet clothes. You always were a strange one, Castiel.”

Castiel’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth when he tried to speak, and his words slurred and ran together. “I’m an angel. My clothes don’t… being wet isn’t… cold… won’t…”

“Yes, I know. You’ve been many things today: an angel, a self-proclaimed god, a Leviathan. I daresay that warm and dry would be an improvement, whether you deem it necessary or not. At least it will be more pleasant.” Lucifer glanced down, noting the vacant look in Castiel’s eyes. He frowned. “Castiel, are you with me? Do you remember what’s happened?”

“Yes. No. You asked two questions.”

“Indeed I did.”

“Lucifer.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh.”

Castiel hunched on his knees beside the toilet. His body shook, and his stomach twisted, and this time, it worked. Copious amounts of the putrid black liquid surged up his throat, and Castiel barely had time to properly lean forward before it was spilling past his lips. He choked and heaved, trying to rid himself of whatever filth was coating his insides while desperately keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut lest he see what he had consumed. When it was finally over, he heard the rush of water and felt something cool and wet wiping his face and lips.

“There we are. Better?” Lucifer asked.

“Why are you here?”

“All the things I’ve seen, and you worry that a little vomit will scare me off? Come now, little—”

“I don’t mean here. I mean _here._ ”

Lucifer paused in where he was wiping the sweat from Castiel’s clammy skin and frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean am I not dead?”

“So then you do remember?”

“I remember enough.”

“Do you? Tell me.”

“I know I opened Purgatory. I know I took a host of monsters into my being. I know I… There is death and destruction everywhere I look inside my own head, and yet somehow I remain. It’s selfish to say so, but I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to know. Destroy me so that I can no longer be a threat, and let it be done with.” Castiel gagged again, leaning against the side of the toilet and resting his head against the rim. “Just leave me here if you won’t do it.”

Lucifer sat back, chin lifted and eyes narrowed in cold scrutiny. “You have some concept of gratitude,” he whispered.

“Gratitude? _Gratitude?_ Do you not understand? I deserve to die. I _want_ to die. You would be doing me a favor.”

“A favor? You think killing you is a favor?”

“Yes!”

“No. I think I’ve done you enough favors for the present moment, and I’m not doing that. Now, I’ve brought you some—”

“Why not? You’ve done it before,” Castiel snapped.

Lucifer was very still, very quiet. He looked stricken, as if the words had shot from Castiel’s lips and slapped him across the face. He took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. “I am sorry,” he whispered, rising to his feet and setting a small bag within reach. “I brought you some clothes that I think will fit you. Please put them on if for no other reason than for the sake of the deposit placed on the hotel.” The door clicked softly behind him when he left.

Castiel kicked the bag across the floor in a little fit of frustration. He hated the bag. He hated the clothes. He hated the hotel. Everything, he hated everything. He threw himself back across the floor like a small child having a tantrum and refused to move as he listened for the sound of the outside door being opened or closed. There was only silence. Eventually, the allure of not being covered in sickness and filth overwhelmed him, and he began to carefully peel his dirty, saturated layers off. For a moment, Castiel was horrified by the condition of his own body. A wealth of scrapes and contusions were painted across his skin. There was something resembling a burn, and he was quite certain that some bones were broken. Worse still, even if he concentrated, he found that he had no means by which to heal himself. He’d felt this way before, years ago. Powerless, graceless, _human_. Unable to look at himself further, he hastily pulled on the fresh layers of soft cotton and padded back out to the main portion of the room.

Lucifer was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back as he stared off at nothing. The bed had been stripped of soggy towels and turned down properly. Castiel hesitated, lingering near the bathroom door and watching quietly. He expected some reaction. He got none.

“About before… That wasn’t fair of me to say.”

Lucifer turned to glance over his shoulder. “It wasn’t a fair thing for me to have done,” he whispered. “I am very truly sorry.”

Castiel nodded, keeping his eyes down. “So am I. …Could I ask again?”

“Ask what?”

“Why you’re here.”

“Because you’re my little brother. Lie down now. Get some rest. Things will be better later.”

Castiel didn’t believe him, not for a second.

* * *

The heaps of blankets and the soft mattress made lying down feel a bit like floating, which would have been fine had Castiel not currently been entertaining a morbid fear of the water. He hadn’t expected the weight beside him on the bed, but he found that it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. If nothing else, Castiel knew that Lucifer had stayed with him through whatever had happened, and there was an undeniable camaraderie in that. He leaned his body backwards, tilting his shoulders in search of some press of contact. The brush of fingertips along his spine was startlingly unexpected, but Castiel didn’t move away. The touch moved slowly, tracing the contours of his sore back before running up the length of his arm, but when it reached the side of his neck, brushing over exposed skin, it made him uneasy. It was soft and light and warm. Lucifer’s hands were cold. Castiel turned his head, neck craning with agonizingly slow reluctance to look over his shoulder.

He was met with a grotesque image of his own face, split ear to ear with a bloody, macabre grin. Slime dribbled down his face, leaking from nose, ears, and mouth, pooling up in tear ducts and bulging from one bloated, black eye. The double’s lips split back to reveal rows of sharp, pointed teeth gleaming in the darkness. Castiel jerked back, trying to escape, but a hand caught his throat and held him fast in place.

“Hello, angel. We’ve missed you.”

Castiel thrashed helplessly in place, eyes rolling wildly as he sought some means of escape or assistance. “Luci—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Bloody, black fingers squeezed, crushed. “Big brother isn’t coming to save you this time. You see, we already took care of him. It was over quite fast. Chomp. Chomp. _Chomp._ ” Each word was punctuated by a quick snap of teeth as the monster inched closer to Castiel’s face. “You, however… You we will savor,” the Leviathan purred. They leaned forward, nuzzling a sticky, wet nose under Castiel’s chin before dragging the hot point of their tongue up the front of his throat.

Castiel’s instinct was to fly, but his wings hung limp and numb, unable to manifest or move him even an inch. He tried to reach for the lamp on the table or even just to wrench out of the grip, but the monsters easily overpowered him.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” they chuckled. “Don’t you remember all the fun we had together? There were the protests and the churches, that little group of activists that had you so upset. Mmm, Heaven was the highlight of the tour, we think, and the way we tore into big brother, the way we’re going to tear into you… that’s _artful_.”

Castiel screamed. He thrashed and clawed at the creatures’ face as if he were hoping to rip off the skin and reclaim his own image. The Leviathan just laughed. They pushed him down easily, covering his body with their exact copy, except for the way it was swelling and oozing. It was like drowning again, but now it was the very essence of the Leviathan forcing its way back into his body, seeping in through his skin and sliding down his throat. Tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes, and he knew that his struggle was only making him more exciting prey.

_Chomp. Chomp. Chomp._

Castiel was drenched, not in blood or black water but in a heavy, cold sheen of perspiration. He sat upright, eyes darting around the room, groping through the darkness. His trembling fingers ran along the edges of the bed and found it empty, save for himself. No blood, no blackness, no monsters wearing his face, just his own shuddering, aching body. He pushed the blankets down and kicked them off the bed in a frantic search, but the sheets were white, damp but white. There was nothing there. Dreaming, he realized, closing his eyes. He had been dreaming.

As he regathered and calmed himself, Castiel noticed the faint sound of soft breathing elsewhere in the room. His eyes settled on the opposite bed, finding Lucifer lying with his back turned, not having bothered to change clothes or curl beneath the sheets. He was simply draped across the bed, a bit awkwardly, breathing slow and even. The Leviathan’s words echoed in Castiel’s ears. _The way we tore into big brother… that’s artful._ He shuddered, struggling to piece together the fragmented pieces of his own memory. The protesters and the supposed church officials he vaguely remembered. He didn’t remember anything about Lucifer.

Moving very slowly so as to be quiet, Castiel slung his legs over the side of the bed and inched forward to stand. He hadn’t paid enough attention earlier, sick as he had been, but he was still certain he would have noticed something if there had been something to notice. He found himself to be very wrong. It was difficult to see with the paleness of the moonlight and the way the curtains blocked most of the room in darkness, but in the moment of clarity, there was no denying the black and red clinging to Lucifer’s skin and clothes. There was a barely healed over laceration across the front of his neck and a myriad of defensive wounds on his hand were he’d tried to stop so many attacks. At least his grace seemed to be actively knitting him back together, Castiel thought, taking a step backwards. The blood he had thrown up earlier suddenly made too much sense, and he had to clasp both hands over his mouth to keep from screaming. Even with his fingers down his throat, he found himself unable to purge anything else out of his system, and so Castiel spent the remainder of the night sitting alone in the darkness trying to contemplate what he had done.

Castiel was sitting at the foot of his bed, hands folded neatly in his lap, waiting when Lucifer woke up. Lucifer seemed a little startled, pushing upright on his hands abruptly and glancing around the room with groggy, lidded eyes. Castiel thought watching him that he had almost certainly never slept before, perhaps he hadn’t meant for it to happen.

“Hello, brother.”

Lucifer was muted by the nickname, but his fingers twitched upward in a subconscious effort to cover his neck.

“I’ve already seen it,” Castiel said, refusing to look up. “I did that.”

“No. Castiel, no. Something possessing you did that. It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it? I don’t remember much, but I know… I know it was my fault. I know I did something, and yet the only thing I can remember is being trapped. I kept screaming and screaming, thinking somebody was going to save me, but…”

“I tried.”

“I know. You killed them?”

Lucifer frowned, brows knitting together in confusion. “How could I? They were possessing you. If I had pressed any further, I would have ended up destroying you as well.”

“Yes, as well you should have. What became of them?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. They went off in every direction in the water.”

“And you just let them go?” Castiel whispered, eyes wide.

“I didn’t much let them do anything, Castiel. I was trying to get to you.”

Castiel lifted his head from where it had fallen cradled in his hands and stared over, mouth agape.

“You’re my family. That was the priority. I’m sorry if you can’t understand that.”

“I’m having a great deal of difficulty understanding a lot of things right now.”

“One more thing we have in common then. Are you at least feeling better?”

“I feel very strange. I’m sore. Sometimes it hurts to breathe.”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to—”

“I know. My stomach hurts.”

“You’re sick again?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. It’s different… I think I might be hungry. I’m not sure.”

“I’ll get you something for that.”

“…Why?”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m not just going to sit here and let you be hungry while I…” He trailed off, staring into the distance with vacant, glazed over eyes.

“Lucifer?”

“What? Oh. I thought I heard something. It’s nothing. Try to rest some while I’m gone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Rest,” Castiel echoed, falling back. He couldn’t imagine anything ever being restful again.


	8. Chapter 8

The world kept turning. The strange creatures seemed to spread across the country within a matter of days, leaving a film of blackness over everything they touched. Biggerson’s restaurants began popping up everywhere, but the correlation went unnoticed until Dean’s turducken sandwich bubbled up with gray goop in his plastic takeout dish.

“The world’s ending, Cas. Do you get that? Whatever it is that we’re tracking, whatever it is that we’re hunting, they want to turn us into a meat market, and we don’t have a damn clue how to stop them. This is… This has something to do with Purgatory, man. I know it, and you know it, so wherever you are, you need to get down here and fix this.”

Dean glanced around the room. There was no reply. There was never a reply. He hung his head in defeat and walked back through to the study where Bobby and Sam were gathered, pouring over books and tomes in search of some sort of answer.

“Still nothing from Cas, huh?” Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged and ran his hand down his face. “I don’t know anymore. I mean, no. Either dude’s ignoring me or he’s dead.”

“Or he’s just somewhere that he can’t answer, Dean.” Sam sighed.

“Well, it’s not like him to just not answer, or it used to be not like him. Hell, last time he couldn’t come to the phone, he sent the freakin’ Devil to our doorstep.” Dean scowled and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “Speaking of, how’s your head?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine-fine or actually fine?”

“Actually fine. No headaches, no nightmares, no hallucinations. Nothing. Whatever Lucifer did, it worked, almost better than the first time.”

“Yeah. For now. Still not gonna start singing his praises or anything. That guy is nothing but ulterior motives.”

“Would you two quit bickering?” Bobby grumbled. “While you both got moderately functioning brains, why don’t you use them to try to figure out what we’re working with here, huh?”

“Sorry, Bobby.” Sam gave Dean a pointed look at sat back down at his computer. He pulled up yet another string of missing persons reports and read through them carefully. However, he didn’t get very far before the cell phone sitting on the table beside him lit up and nearly buzzed off to the floor. He glanced down, seeing a blocked number, and shrugged in response to the two curious stares he was getting before flipping the device open and holding it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Sam.”

He froze, breath sucked in and held in his chest for several long moments before his lungs began to burn and he had to exhale. “Lucifer?”

Dean was instantly on his feet, ready to jerk the phone away, but Sam held up his hand to stop him.

“How did you get this number?”

“You haven’t changed your numbers in years…”

“I… oh.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“What does that mean? Where are you? Why are you on a phone?”

“What does he want?” Dean snapped. Sam glared.

“…I heard you. I think.”

“You mean… I honestly didn’t think that would work.”

“I’m an angel.”

“Yeah…”

“These monsters you spoke of, are they hunting you?”

“Not specifically, but—”

“Good. Stay away from them.”

“What are they?”

Lucifer’s laugh was soft and dry. “No, Sam. If I tell you that, you’ll just go digging up information on them and wind up getting yourself killed.”

“I can’t very well protect myself if I don’t know what they are either. Look, we’re going to work on this whether you help us or not, so—”

“I’m sorry, Sam. No. I have to go now.”

“Lucifer, wait. _Wait._ ”

“…What?”

“What about… What about Cas? Did he…?”

“Castiel is alive.”

“Oh thank God. I mean… I don’t… Sorry. It’s just when he didn’t answer any of our prayers…”

“God’s name doesn’t offend me, Sam. Was that all?”

“If you’re really not even going to tell me how to defend myself if one of these things tries to eat me.”

“Go for the throat.”

“…Thanks.”

“That’s the best I can do right now, Sam. Please just… leave it alone. I know you won’t, but I’m asking you anyway. Not everything is up to you to fix. …I really am glad you’re safe.”

The phone clicked in Sam’s ear before he could reply, and he simply set it down on the table with a small frown.

“He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Oh, surprise, surprise.”

Bobby frowned at Dean, silencing him. “He mentioned Cas…?”

“He said he was alive, nothing else.”

“At least that’s something.”

“What I want to know is why _Lucifer_ knows Cas is alive and we’re left in the dark.”

“Well, they are brothers, Dean, maybe—” Dean shot Sam a look so fierce he was instantly silent, eyes back on the screen in quiet contemplation.

Dean stood silently, fingers rolling a piece of lint deep in his pockets. “At least we know where Cas is drawing his inspiration from,” he muttered, sagging back into his chair. He pulled another book into his lap and began to read.

A tense silence stretched for hours. Every turn of a page, click of a key, or rustle of fabric as someone shifted his position seemed to draw irritation from one of the room’s other occupants. They weren’t getting anywhere with nothing to go on but black Purgatory monster with a potential neck weakness and a voracious appetite for human flesh. It didn’t narrow things down.

Dean was the first to break. He sighed heavily as he pushed yet another worthless book closed and shut his eyes. “Alright, Cas. Your buddy Lucifer ratted you out. I know you’re alive and just not answering me, so why don’t you at least pick up the phone and tell us what we’re looking for? That’s the least you can do, man.”

“Maybe he can’t hear you, Dean.”

“Of course he can hear me. That’s why he sent ‘big brother’ to scare us off, right?”

Sam pursed his lips and turned his eyes back at the book he was reading.

“Right? Dammit, Sammy. What’s going on?”

“I prayed to him.”

Even Bobby dropped his research to stare. “You prayed to Lucifer…?”

“Nothing else was working.”

“Yeah, but Sam…”

“You could have led him straight to us.”

“Dean, he already knows where we are. He came here already, remember? When he healed me?”

“I’m not so sure he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means since when are you running around playing Devil’s Advocate?”

“I’m not. You said he came here and talked to you. You said he had been with Cas and that he was trying to do something with the souls. He seemed like the one most likely to actually know something.”

“Well, that was a bust.”

“No. It wasn’t. We know that Cas is alive.”

“A lot of good it’s doing us.”

“Dean… It’s Cas.”

Dean sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “I know. That’s the point. He did this, Sam. He broke your wall and made himself God and then just… runs off? He’s not even going to tell us what we’re dealing with so we can actually deal with it? He’s just going to sit back and let the whole planet go to shit?”

“He’s got a point, Sam,” Bobby murmured.

“I know he’s got a point, and I want to get rid of these things too. I want Cas here helping; I really do.”

“Good. Then let’s get on that.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean shut his eyes again. “Dear Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, or however it is you wish to be addressed, if you could give us a buzz and let us know where Cas is so he can actually help us clean up this huge mess he made—”

“What the hell are you doing!?”

“Praying to the Devil, I guess.”

“Jesus, Dean. You can’t just be rude to him like that.”

“What? You two are buddies now?”

“What does--? No. That’s not even the point.”

“What is the point then, Sam?”

“The point is you’re being rude and antagonistic.”

“We ain’t got a real good history antagonizing Lucifer,” Bobby muttered.

“I wasn’t being rude.”

“Yes. You were.”

“Fine then. You do it.”

“What?”

“Well, apparently you’ve got some profound bond going with Satan, so…”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “That’s your thing,” he said in a short, clipped tone. He closed his book. “I’m going out to get food.”

 

Castiel looked up anxiously when Lucifer finally returned. He was huddled up on the floor in front of yet another hotel television, arms shrugged around his knees, eyes wide as he watched the news report.

“People are dying,” he whispered.

“People are always dying,” Lucifer said dryly, sitting down on the foot of the bed. He began to peel an orange, tearing each segment off one by one and cleaning it of the bitter, white pith before handing it over to Castiel.

“Because of me.”

“Eat something.”

Castiel took the little piece of fruit, sliding it past his lips with trembling fingers. He kept staring at the television until Lucifer turned it off.

“I talked to Sam.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Apparently, when they didn’t get an answer from you, they decided to start sending their little bells off in my head, which—” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “—which is getting spectacularly annoying.”

“Tune it out.”

“Touché, little brother.”

Castiel leaned his head thoughtlessly against Lucifer’s knee as he took the next slice of orange. “Did you tell them about the Leviathan?”

“I told them to stay away from them. I didn’t tell them what they were or anything about them.”

“Why not? They could help.”

“They could get themselves killed.”

“The Winchesters are amazing men, Lucifer. They could—”

“I’m not feeding Sam to those monsters. No.”

Castiel dropped his eyes down. He fidgeted, rubbing the juice from the orange off on his pants. “You really care about him.”

Lucifer didn’t respond.

“…I’ve misjudged you.”

He looked down to meet Castiel’s eyes then, reaching forward to tuck an errant piece of hair behind his ear before rising to dispose of the orange peel. He picked up a small plastic case of blueberries and carried them to the sink to rinse.

Castiel followed. “Do you think they’ll look for me?”

“The Winchesters?”

“The Leviathan.”

“They won’t find you.”

“Do you think the Winchesters will?”

Lucifer emptied the berries out onto a paper towel. “Look for you or find you?”

“Either.”

“Maybe. And no.”

“Do you think they hate me? I mean, it’s my fault. I should be fixing this. I should be helping, but…”

“But…?”

Castiel wrapped his arms around himself and paced back to his seat. “I just make it worse. It’s better to just let them handle things. I’ve learned that now. I had no business… I should have just listened.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“I do.”

“Eat this.” Lucifer held the small bowl out, prompting Castiel to take it and balance it on his knees.

“You know they’ll do it anyway, right? We should just leave it to them, I suppose. They’ll figure it out. They always do. I just make it worse. I just ruin things.” Castiel nodded to himself, sitting down cross-legged and trying to will himself to turn the television back on, to look at what he had done to the world. He couldn’t do it. He just sat there quietly listening to the soft rustle of book pages behind him. “May I ask you something?”

“What?”

“How long did it take you to get used to the silence? I don’t mean… It’s just I’m so used to…”

“The… Oh. Hell isn’t very quiet, Castiel.”

“It was… I’m sorry. See? That’s what I mean. Stupid things. I say stupid things, do stupid things.”

“It was just a question. I’m not upset.”

“I only ever try to help. I just wanted to help, and now…” He glanced down at the bowl of blueberries.

Lucifer watched him. He could practically see the thin fibers of mental stability stretching and wearing thin. He reached across the desk and lifted the phone, tapping in a series of numbers he’d learned to block the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Oh. I-I didn’t think you’d call again. Look, if this is about Dean, he shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not. Castiel wanted me to call you. Understand that we don’t actually have a lot of information.”

“You mean… Right. Okay. Understood. Anything you can tell me, really.”

“This works both ways.”

“Sorry?”

“I expect a reciprocal exchange of information, and I also expect for you not to be stupid. These things are dangerous. You shouldn’t go up against them unless you absolutely have to.”

“Right. Of course.”

Lucifer took a deep breath. “They’re called Leviathan.”

“Leviathan?”

“The Old Ones, and by old I mean older than I am. They were the first beasts God created, but their ravenous hunger made them too hostile to co-exist with any other creation, so He created Purgatory to contain them. Right now, they’re traveling using the water supply in order to occupy human hosts. I have Castiel drinking bottled water that was sealed in the months and weeks before their escape. I suggest you do the same. Likewise, from what I can tell, they seem to be infiltrating the food market. I’m not sure how. That’s all I have for certain at present.”

“No, that’s really helpful. Thank you. I mean it.”

Lucifer dropped the phone back onto the base. “There,” he muttered. “We helped.”

Castiel watched him silently from the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

The angels moved from place to place, staying mostly in hotels, though there were a few old hideouts that Lucifer recalled from the year with the war. Castiel referred to that time as the Apocalypse. Lucifer didn’t; he just pressed his lips into a thin line and said that it was something no longer worth discussing. They carried very little: the handful of promising research notes on tracking the Leviathan and Castiel’s small bag of accumulated clothing. He kept waiting for his grace to come back and trying to adapt to not having powers, not having wings. Neither one happened. When he became exceedingly morose, Lucifer would bring him books. At first, he brought back folklore and fairy tales, almost as if he were attempting to pass such off as reading material that might be helpful to researching, but he eventually gave up that charade in favor of poetry. The poems seemed to relax Castiel, helping him sleep. He would curl up near the center of the bed and balance the book beside him, reading quietly for the better part of an hour before his breathing would become slow and even and the book would topple from its perch. Lucifer went through the same routine every night, picking the book up from the bed or, occasionally, the floor, marking the page, and setting it aside on the table before covering Castiel with a blanket. He often went out at night, leaving Castiel to sleep. He sat in restaurants and all night diners, eyes scanning the staff for some hint as to who the monsters were hiding inside, but the Leviathan knew his face now, and they were resolved to hide from him.

Castiel struggled. Some days, eating was hard. Sleeping was harder. The books helped him get to sleep by simply driving his fatigue to a certain level, but they did nothing to help him stay asleep. Vivid nightmares clawed at the inside of his mind, and he woke frequently, often before he could get into a deep enough sleep to constitute any rest. Generally, he woke to the soft sound of turning pages or the occasional humming of old Enochian hymns and was able to fall back asleep, but when he woke alone to nothing but the darkness and the silence, he was back underneath the water, subjugated within his own body again, insides swelling with blackness. He’d cry sometimes, turning over to hide his face in his pillow to avoid it ever being seen, but it only got worse. The Leviathan were coming for him. He knew it.

There was a sense of finality to the sound of the lock clicking and the presence of someone else in the room. Castiel had been awake for an hour, and that was after having slept only an hour or so a night for the past four days. Death or sleep, he no longer cared. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted it to be quiet.

“I thought you were gone,” he whispered.

“I was looking for them. I thought you would sleep through my absence.”

“I never do anymore. They’re going to come for me when you’re not looking. I know it.”

“I won’t leave again while you’re sleeping. You look exhausted, and it’s two in the morning, so—”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve been trying, and I can’t anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see them and I hear them louder than ever. I can taste the blood, your blood, in my mouth. I feel them moving around inside me, and I can’t… I just can’t.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out as a slow, shaky sigh. “How can something so simple be so difficult? Leave it to me to mess up sleeping. I’m just… I’m so scared all the time.”

Lucifer sat down on the edge of the bed, staring across at the opposite wall. “I don’t blame you, not for being scared and not for anything else either, but you do need to sleep. I’ll be right here. I promise.”

“How will I know that? The second I close my eyes, they’re everywhere, and I can’t—”

It was different than before. The pressure against Castiel’s back was light and cool, and the way Lucifer’s arm went around his waist to hold him felt oddly secure. It took a moment to accommodate himself with the sensation, and he could tell from the way Lucifer’s muscles relaxed out of rigidity one by one behind him that his brother was going through a similar process.

“Do you want me to move?”

“No. I just didn’t expect it.”

“Preconceived notions can be problematic like that.”

Castiel smiled. “I dreamed something like this once, but it was all wrong. You weren’t you. You were me, and I was them, and they tried to—”

“I’m me, Castiel,” Lucifer whispered. His grace seemed to glow and expand around him, enveloping Castiel in the familiar feeling of angelic energy. “I’m here, little brother. Go to sleep.”

Castiel already had.

Lucifer didn’t sleep. He had no need after healing himself completely, but he did let his mind settle into a state of relaxation, picking through the various bits of information he had found and trying to decompress everything. Castiel’s body was warm against him, and it was closer than he’d ever been to anyone in nearly as long as he could remember. The peacefulness was enough to lure his mind into a state of blissful silence, making the sudden voice in his head so resounding and clear that it nearly startled him.

_Lucifer… You need borax._

He opened his eyes, face drawing in confusion. Borax? He thought to grab the phone, but the way Castiel was bundled up against him, curled tight and limbs tangled, made moving at all difficult.

_Sorry. Sodium borate. It’s a… I’m sure you know what it is. It burns them. It doesn’t kill them, but it’s something. We have one chained up in Bobby’s basement, so… I just thought I would let you know that. You can get it almost anywhere and maybe give some to Cas so he feels safer? You’ll figure it out._

“…Lucifer?”

“What?”

“I said are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You looked dazed…”

“Sam was…” Lucifer gestured vaguely to the side of his head. “He said something about sodium borate being effective. Does that sound familiar at all to you?”

“No. I’m sorry. Most of what I heard was just noise, and now it’s just… strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not really like remembering. It’s like I can hear them talking sometimes, like I’m—”

“Tapped into their wavelength.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide with horror. “I’m just… dreaming though, right? I mean, you don’t think…?”

“You were on their communication level for a while. Maybe you never properly went off.”

“D-do you think they know?”

‘Have they said anything about you?”

“I’ve been trying not to listen. I thought I was imagining it.”

“I know. I hate to even have to ask this of you, but if it can give us an advantage, we need it.”

Castiel breathed out slowly and closed his eyes. “I hear names. Edgar, Marilyn, Dick— Dick seems to be important. They’re all talking about him. There’s something about land surveying and Dick being upset about the hyper-aggression caused by the serum. Dick is going to ‘bib’ someone…? I’m sorry. I can’t make much of it out.”

“Don’t worry. You did very well.” Lucifer jotted the notes down on the pad by the bed, reaching over to pat Castiel’s shoulder in reassurance.

The struggle to connect the new information became all-encompassing. Whoever Edgar, Marilyn, and Dick were, they were key players in the Leviathan plot to take over the Earth. The problem was that all three names were fairly common, and without a surname to trace them with, it left a lot of people to sort through. None of the missing people had those names, not that Lucifer could see, but this sort of information hunting was not his particular area of expertise. He knew the answer was in front of him, and yet he couldn’t see it. His frustration mounted.

The switch flipped all at once in one day. He was sitting at the table in a new hotel room piecing together a series of articles on a company called Roman Enterprises having bought out an immense amount of diners and fast food establishments despite the fact that the corporation had primarily funded various real estate developments up until fairly recently. Castiel came to sit beside him, stirring honey into a cup of tea and watching him with calm, evaluative eyes, waiting patiently until Lucifer looked up to acknowledge him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Looking for Leviathan?”

“Start with that.”

“They tried to eat me.”

“That’s fair. And the rest?”

“What’s the rest?”

Castiel leaned back in his chair, gesturing towards the room, the bag of clothes on the bed, and then the cup of tea on the table before him. “This, being here… me.”

“I’ve told you. We’re family.”

“We were family before, and…”

Lucifer folded his arms across his chest and sat back, eyes moving over Castiel’s face and then sharply away to the side. “You’re different.”

“Because I rebelled?”

“Among other things, yes. Even back then, watching you defy everything and fight so hard for what you believed in, watching how willing you were to sacrifice and bleed and die for what you thought was right and then seeing it crumble and slip through your fingertips… I suppose I can relate.”

A tiny hint of a smile pulled at Castiel’s lips, but he hid it by ducking his head down and staring into his cup. “Yes. I suppose you can.”

Lucifer leaned quickly forward, busying himself with another newspaper article. “Or maybe I just like you,” he muttered.

Castiel glanced up to look at him, studying his posture and his sudden refusal to make eye contact. “Do you like tea?”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Would you like to try it?”

“I’d love to try it. Thank you.”

There was no hiding the smile the second time around. Castiel turned away, touching Lucifer’s shoulder as he went. He heated the water in a coffee pot and choose a mild, fruity blend that turned the water a warm, ruddy color. He was halfway across the room to deliver it when he froze up. His hands shook, and the cup slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor and splashing hot tea up across his ankles.

Lucifer had him by the shoulders. “Castiel? Castiel, what’s wrong?”

“Angels… They’re talking about angels.”

“What about angels?”

“They have them… Two of our brothers.”

“Who? Where?”

“I don’t know. They’re just saying… h-how much more delicious angels are than humans.” Castiel covered his face with his hands, stumbling forward into Lucifer’s arms where he was pulled close and held tight.

“I’m going to kill them. I promise.”

“There’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“They’re saying something about a meeting… Dick is going to be at the SucroCorp office in Chicago on Thursday.”

Lucifer nodded solemnly, reaching to cup Castiel’s face in his hands. “And I’m going to kill him.”

  
They spent the rest of the evening formulating a plan. Once they had the name SucroCorp, everything fell into place. They turned over pages of information on Richard Roman Enterprises, a corporation owned by Richard “Dick” Roman which had been primarily a real estate company until fairly recently. Almost overnight, the charismatic entrepreneur had started buying up fast food restaurants and 24-hour diners. The company’s purchase of SucroCorp would allow their reach to extend to every food source that utilized corn syrup in its manufacturing. Everything from baked goods to snacks and sodas had the potential to be laced with the Leviathan’s mysterious serum within a matter of weeks, maybe sooner. Thursday seemed far off, but it came quickly.

Lucifer sat on the bed on Wednesday night, turning the receiver over in his hands for at least ten minutes before he worked the nerve to dial out. The blocked calls were less alarming now, almost expected.

“Hello,” Sam answered.

“Hi, Sam… I wanted to call and thank you for the information on the cleaning product and its effectiveness against the Leviathan.”

“Sure. No problem. I’m glad we could help. How’s Cas?”

“Asleep.”

“Asleep? Then he’s…? I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“Thank you. I figured as much. I wanted to tell you something else.”

“Okay?”

“I’ve found the leader of the Leviathan, and I’m going to kill him in the morning. They operate as a sort of hive mind, so once he is eliminated, the others will become inconsequential.”

“Whoa, wait, you found them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Wow. So where are they? We’ll come help—”

“No. I don’t want your help with this. I don’t want you involved at all.”

“Lucifer, you said these things were older than you. You said—”

“I know what I said, Sam. I’ll handle it.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. There was just the light hum of the phone connection between them.

“I guess there’s no changing your mind then.”

“No. I didn’t call to ask you anything. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Right. I understand. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lucifer started to put the phone down, but he stopped, lifting it back to his ear quickly. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“What happened at the cemetery and then… the Cage, everything you think I did, that I… I didn’t. I wouldn’t, not to you, not ever. I know you won’t believe me, but I wanted to say it just the same.”

Sam didn’t reply. The dead silence made Lucifer wonder if the phone line was even connected at all.

“…I hope you have a happy life, Sam. I always hoped that.” He hung up the phone.


	10. Chapter 10

SucroCorp looked different in the light of day. It was a huge building, full of offices and teeming with people, and yet somehow, it looked simple, plain, unassuming. It looked like a business, not like a hive crawling with a nest of monsters, but Castiel could sense them, he could hear their voices like a humming swarm echoing in his ears. His grip tightened on Lucifer’s hand.

“He’s in there.”

“Yes.”

“I can feel him. I can hear his voice.”

“You know the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re up for it?”

Castiel nodded. “I’m ready.”

  


The security measures proved futile, easy for an archangel to breach, especially one who had spent the past three nights investigating the location. He pulled Castiel in along with him, hiding in the shadows and using his grace to cloak their presence. They stayed huddled together, pressed closer with Lucifer’s arm around Castiel’s shoulders. All the voices said the same thing: Dick was upstairs in his private office.

They recognized him at once, from his sharp, keen eyes to the wide smile that showed too many teeth and yet hid just as many more. He glanced down at the little white ball rolling across the strip of green and smiled as it landed in the hole. Standing upright, Dick straightened his tie and set his golf club aside.

“You can come out now.”

Lucifer glanced at Castiel who nodded solemnly in turn. This was the one. Lucifer pushed Castiel behind him and stepped forward alone.

Dick smiled. “I was wondering how long it would take you to put everything together. I have to say, I’m a little impressed. You found me pretty quick. Good for you. Daddy’s little starlight has grown up quite a bit since those days, huh?” He picked up another club and turned back around. “You play?”

“No.”

“Ah, shame. You could, you know. A nice private island, a whole continent, if you like. Somewhere quiet where you and your— what did you call him? Little Thursday?— can retire in peace. You stay out of our way. We stay out of your way. Win-win.”

“And what about the rest of my family?”

“Hm? Aren’t they fluttering about in Heaven plotting your demise?”

“Perhaps… except for the ones you captured.”

The already wide grin stretched up, crinkling the Leviathan’s cold eyes. “Now, where did you hear a thing like that?”

“Word gets around.”

“I’ll bet it does. Tell you what, any angels that stay in Heaven and on your continent are off-limits. It will be like your own private sibling aviary, what do you say?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Oh, come on now. It’s a good deal.” He struck the ball again, not bothering to watch as it rolled across the fake slope. He knew it would go in the hole. “I mean, don’t tell me you actually think you’re going to win this? One little angel against all of us? Do you even know how many of us there are, how many of us are in this building?”

“I have a reasonable idea, yes.”

“A reasonable idea. And you plan to take on all of us?”

Lucifer shook his head, eyes calm but bright and resolute. “Just you.”

The smile faded from Dick’s face, falling into something of a sneer that pulled his lips back and flared his nose. His eyes moved carefully, first taking in the layout of the room, any possible advantage, and then Lucifer himself— not a scratch on him now, of course. He forced his lips to curve again, thin and tight in an obviously fake expression. “Alright, angel. I’ll play ball. I’ll give you the little angels back, full hands off on your kind. You all run along and stay out of my way.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you’re not here to defend _humans_. Oh, how you have fallen, son of the dawn.” Dick shook his head, sliding the golf clubs back into their bag and barking out a low chuckle. “Be reasonable. Your hatred for humans is quite literally the stuff of legends. Let me clean them up for you.”

Lucifer answered without a word, merely tilting his head to one side and watching every movement with serene scrutiny. His shoulders were squared and pushed back, arms loose at his side, feet firmly in place. The only part of his body that had moved at all during the entire conversation was that one inclination of his head. He was already braced to fight. The Leviathan watched him, sizing him up and weighing what he saw against what he knew about angels, specifically the archangels: fierce and absolute and created with no purpose other than fighting— and decadently delicious. This one was said to be the brightest of all.

“What exactly are you planning to do, Lucifer? Let’s say I humor your idealism. Let’s say you do manage to get your hands on me— then what? Do you honestly think the others won’t come? Do you honestly think you’ll be able to handle all of us?”

“Oh, they’ll come. I want them to come. That’s part of the plan, but this… this is just between you and me.”

“So you have a plan?”

“Of course.”

“Clever little star.”

Lucifer smiled. “Yes.”

The entire building erupted with the high, ugly buzz of a fire alarm. It was awful and deafening, but Dick laughed over it, high and uneven.

“You think you’re going to scare my boys off with a little fire alarm?”

“Of course not. Your boys will run up. Everyone else will run down.”

“What happened to just me and you, huh? I mean, do you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into? We’re older than you, Lucifer. We’re older and smarter and stronger. You have no—”

His speech was interrupted by a faint series of popping sounds in the ceiling above. The sprinklers hissed to life, tripped by a tiny flux of Lucifer’s grace and Castiel’s preparations. The initial rush of water was punctuated by a series of broken, agonized screaming echoing down the halls. Dick swiveled around to look through the glass on the opposite wall, stunned to find his underlings writhing in the hallway as the flesh was melted off their bones. He spun back around, snarling and wide eyed.

Lucifer smiled. “Just me and you.”

Enraged, the Leviathan lunged, but Lucifer had been ready for that move since the moment of his arrival. He dropped his shoulders, catching Dick in the nose with one quick strike. There was a wet crunch, and black blood dribbled down the monster’s face. Still, he laughed, springing back upright from the small stumble with relative ease. His face split open into rows of teeth in a threatening, fearsome display, but it wasn’t surprising anymore, and it certainly wasn’t as terrifying when Castiel’s face wasn’t the one being twisted.

Deciding against direct contact, Dick held his arm out from his body, flicking his wrist with a surge of power that staggered Lucifer off his feet and knocked him backwards across the table. He stayed crouched there, feigning injury out of sight, counting footsteps and waiting for the monster to step around the corner. The silver blade flashed as it sank into the creature’s skull with a squelching crack. Dick screeched in pain, clawing at the back of his own head in an attempt to dislodge both Lucifer and his angelic sword, but the archangel merely bore down, putting the weight of his vessel and the power of his grace behind the strike, reaching one hand down to brace the front of Dick’s throat and crushing his windpipe with icy fingers. Dick turned his face sideways, rubbing his nose along Lucifer’s arm and inhaling the scent there before forcing his teeth into skin and sinew, tearing all the way down to the bone. He jerked back, ripping out a chunk of flesh and greedily sucking at the silky, grace laden blood. The surprising pain and shooting numbness down his vessel’s arm was enough to momentarily throw Lucifer’s concentration, and he found himself crashing through the glass a second later. The wind barely touched his neck before his wings expanded and he was back in the room, upright in spite of it all.

Dick ran his slender, pointed tongue over his red lips, lapping up little bits of white light and swallowing them down into the abyss of darkness. A few more hits like that, and Lucifer wouldn’t have enough power to put behind that special little sword. “That was cute,” he murmured. “I like that trick with the sprinklers too. I’m impressed, Morning Star, quite impressed. We could have made quite the team, you and I. After all, we’re just the same, practically brothers.”

“My brothers are the angels you’ve been trying to use for food, and you and I… We’re nothing alike.”

“Is that so?” Dick chuckled. His eyes were trailing the soft, white contour of Lucifer’s neck, watching the sheen of sweat and the pulse of blood. Now that he’d had a taste of archangel, he was greedily hungry. “Tell me, didn’t God make you before so many other things and give you a whole world to play with? And then didn’t He toss you aside the second you got boring, replace you with something new and more fun, lock you up in a near impossible to open cage?”

Lucifer tilted his chin up staring down calmly. “It wasn’t that simple. You’re glossing over key points of the story to undermine the differences and highlight base similarities. I’m not so unintelligent as to fall for that.”

“I guess I did put a certain spin on it, hm? Well, that’s interpretative reading for you.” He glanced past Lucifer, trying to evaluate the condition of the sprinklers. They couldn’t have planted enough of the chemical to provide a constant stream indefinitely. It would have to run out at some point, and then the water would flush it away.

Lucifer seemed to be making the same calculations, but his concern was something very different. A light, airy laugh lit his face up with a smile when the sprinklers came back to life with a fresh surge of borax and the few Leviathan that were still intact enough to try to crawl away were instantly stricken by the fresh wash of chemicals. It was now or never. Lucifer ran at the Leviathan, using all the weight of his body and opening his wings for extra momentum, throwing his body forward with enough force to send them both through the plate of glass that blocked through to the hallway. Dick understood his intentions almost quickly enough, flexing his jaws open wide to attempt to catch that pretty throat. He almost succeeded, instead latching on to the curve of Lucifer’s shoulder, a much less critical wound but also one that let him hook his teeth into a thick chunk of muscle and hold tight enough to toss the archangel’s body off his with a snap of his neck as they collided.

The hallway was slick with borax, and crawling through it was made even more difficult by the way the chemical kept burning the flesh off Dick’s hands. He slid, fumbling with water and blood ruining his grip, scrabbling to make his way back into the safety of the office. A harsh grip caught his ankle, dragging him back through the shallow, yet acidic layer of water. Dick spun, knocking Lucifer in his already injured shoulder and then kicking him in the face to knock him back. He stood up, wiping moisture and liquefied skin from his face as he stomped forward and grabbed the back of Lucifer’s collar, dragging him through the doorway.

“You know, I tried to be nice. I tried to play fair, gave you a chance to work with me _twice_ , but your stupid, insolent, childish pride got in the way.” Dick pushed Lucifer onto his back, emphasizing each point of his stream of insults with a hard punch to the face before forcing him down and pinning him in place with a knee on his bloody shoulder and a press of weight on his chest. He leaned down, lips stretching in a cruel smile as he lapped a trickle of blood from under Lucifer’s jaw, delighting in how his skin split and his eyes rolled back to whites. “Should have played nice, starlight, because now, I’m gonna eat you. I’m going to eat you, and then I’m going to eat your little sweetheart, and then I’m going to summon every one of your sparkly shit siblings and eat them too.”

Lucifer’s hands were around Dick’s neck like a vice. The Leviathan had been completely unprepared for the level of rage such a threat evoked from a protective older brother. His neck was burning, flesh disintegrating and falling away under hands that were coated with poison and burning with grace. Lucifer twisted and arched his body, trying to get enough leverage to push the monster down into the water again. He felt a shift of weight to one side, one millisecond of imbalance, and pivoted his hips sharply to switch their positions once more. Dick roared in pain and outrage as the water soaked through the back of his shirt and coat. His ears echoed with wet tearing and crunching, and after the initial shock of pain cleared, he realized that the archangel was pulling him apart with his bare hands, using the borax to facilitate an easier break. He arched his body up, striking their torsos together hard enough to knock the breath from Lucifer’s lungs. Dick curved his spine, folding his knees up into his chest and pushing his legs into Lucifer’s stomach as hard as he could, pouncing the moment there was enough leverage to do so.

“I like your moxie, boy, but I’m done playing.” The Leviathan unhinged his jaw completely, mouth gaping with rows of teeth and an eagerly twisting tongue. He sank his teeth in again, quickly now, a series of rapid bites intended to shred rather than consume. The glass of walls and windows vibrated with the force of the archangel’s true voice, shattering and dancing across the floor as he screamed.

Lucifer could feel himself slipping, but he could also feel the bones at the back of Dick Roman’s neck giving way under his fingers. He clutched, nails breaking the barrier of thin skin and worming their way through dissolving muscle. He pushed, thumbs forcing their way under the powerful jawline until he got through there too and had a firm grip on the whole of the monster’s skull. He twisted. The low grind of bone on bone and then a sharp, abrupt snap, and the head was dislodged, rolling across the floor. The body collapsed and sagged forward, pinning Lucifer beneath its weight and emptying a heavy rush of black slime across his neck and face. His eyes closed, and there was just the darkness and the quiet rush of water.


	11. Epilogue

By that afternoon, every news station in the country was covering the disaster at Richard Roman Enterprises. A small fire had broken out in a warehouse section, destroying a massive stockpile of a new coffee creamer product. The fire alarm had gone off, evacuating most of the building’s occupants, but there were strange reports of some employees running upstairs instead of down. The fire department had found the building impossible to enter for hours, but their investigation yielded a sprinkler system malfunction that resulted in major flooding, damaging computer systems and product prototypes alike. Dozens of people were missing, including the company CEO, Richard Roman. A lack of any burnt remains at the site of the fire shed doubts on the idea that they were dead, but investigators were baffled by the mysterious black sludge that clung to the floors and walls. Ultimately, they would come to blame it on an unreleased sugar product that the company was currently developing.

The television streamed the story for hours. When it wasn’t playing on the screen, it was running across the bottom in a text report that moved in a constant, recurring loop. They had long stopped watching it, stopped reading it. It all made sense, really. Richard Roman Enterprises, SucroCorp, Biggerson’s restaurants— food additives had been at the crux of the Leviathan’s domination plans, and now, they were completely destroyed.

“He did it,” Dean mumbled, rubbing his jaw. “Son of a bitch did it.”

Sam simply nodded. He had expected a call, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He stepped away from the others, wandering outside to stand on the porch, fingers twisting at his side in a nervous twitch. He cast his eyes upwards, but that seemed somehow inappropriate, considering the status of fallen angel. Glancing down didn’t work either. Sam closed his eyes.

“…Lucifer? If you can hear me, I just… I know. I know, okay? And thank you. Really, you and Castiel both. Thank you.”

* * *

Lucifer had heard Sam’s voice many times in Hell, but it was never quite like that. The pain was prevalent enough to confuse him, and the way every nerve cell seemed to be shrieking to the point of resonating down to the core of his grace with agony was so much like Hell that he knew all at once. It had all been a dream, an illusion bred by the Cage to torment him, something beautiful dangled in front of him and then snatched away before he could grab it. His body jerked, back curving in a vain attempt to pull out of the confines that held him, to push himself free or upright enough to seek that voice out. The soft touch on his shoulder stopped him.

“Try not to move so much right now.”

Lucifer opened his eyes to a smear of colors, nothing distinguishable, but he knew that voice. “Little Thursday?”

Castiel sighed. “I’m never living that nickname down, am I? You probably shouldn’t try to talk right now either.” He slid his fingers underneath the back of Lucifer’s neck, supporting torn muscles with a gentle hand as he fixed the pillow back into place. “I thought I had lost you…”

“I’m hard to kill.”

“Something for which I find myself immensely grateful now, brother.”

A shaky breath hung in Lucifer’s chest for a moment. He found himself unsure if he wanted to hold it and relish or simply sigh in the contentment of being called such once more. Castiel touched his chest lightly, and he breathed out. “What happened?”

Castiel pressed his lips into a small frown as he reached for the cloth to wipe away the blood that insisted upon flowing past the lines of white gauze. “Everything you said. The humans fled at the sound of the fire alarm, and the Leviathan unintentionally ran into what proved to be poison to them. So long as I stayed in the water, they were easy enough to dispatch.”

“You weren’t hurt?”

“You’re missing pieces, and you’re asking me if I was hurt?” He sighed again. “No, Lucifer. I’m unharmed, as are the others. They sent you their thanks.”

Breath catching again, Lucifer forced himself to blink his eyes open and seek out Castiel’s gaze. “…Others?”

“Inias and Nathaniel. They were being held on site, bound in Enochian warding and holy fire. The sprinklers in that room had been disabled, of course, and so many of the creatures attempted to flee there in an attempt to find relief. I followed them there and freed our brothers. They assisted me in what can hardly be called a battle. We used the sodium borate to disable them, which made them substantially easier to kill. The others scattered what cells might have remained into oblivion. They’ll never pull themselves back together, not from that.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Castiel nodded in agreement and laid his head down on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes briefly.

“What’s the matter…?”

“Nothing of any merit. It’s over; it’s finally over. You saved me, in more ways than I could count, and I simply have no words to express… I just…”

“What is it?”

“I thought I would feel more peaceful. I thought there would be some contentment in having helped stop what I alone unleashed, and yet here we are, in the wake of victory, and all I can think about is how many people died… how you almost died. I didn’t deserve to survive this. To say so sounds horrible and ungrateful, which I’m not, I assure you, but still, it seems wrong that I am alive and well when so many people are lost or wounded. It sounds so strange to say, I’m sure, but—” The cool brush of fingers over the curve of his lips silenced Castiel instantly, and he closed his eyes again. He kissed Lucifer’s fingers, kissed his palm and his wrist, leaning up as he did so as to coax his brother’s hand into offering more contact. “It is such a simple thing, I think, not wanting to be afraid anymore, and yet here I am, terrified.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I, not properly, but… I have to confess, I never thought I would be so afraid of losing you.” Castiel looked up to meet Lucifer’s eyes, offering something of a teary smile. He hesitated, a bit fumbling and nervous, holding eye contact for a moment before letting his lashes flutter shut as he leaned forward to press his lips against Lucifer’s. He found them to be pleasantly soft and only a little cool, surprisingly yielding in the way his older brother allowed him to lead until his shoulders relaxed and his head tilted to one side to better fit their mouths together.

Lucifer hummed contently as Castiel pulled away, eyes still closed. “What a peculiar thing you are…”

Castiel just smiled.

 

Recovery would be a long, arduous process. The Leviathan had proven themselves capable of cutting an angel down to his core, ripping at his very essence and draining him of his grace. Castiel watched Lucifer sleep in thoughtful silence. He diligently tended him, placing in neat rows of tiny stitches and swathing his various injuries in layers of fresh gauze, hopefully holding his vessel together until such time as his grace was strong enough to heal himself. Castiel wondered about his own grace, tried to pull some power up inside himself or stretch the wings that seemed to have curled up and died along the ridges of his spine. Nothing happened. He considered the idea that humanity would be his punishment, and it seemed fitting enough. He had shown himself to be incapable of handling power and committed the most fearsome act of hubris that history had ever witnessed. He counted himself more than lucky to have escaped the ordeal with his life.

When the darkness of night fell, Castiel paced over to the window to look at the stars. He said a quiet farewell to each sibling he remembered killing during the throes of his madness, a thousand names tumbling from his tongue and fogging up the windowpane. Somewhere in the silence that followed, as the tears were stinging his eyes and leaving red streaks down his face, Castiel swore he heard a tiny voice echoing inside his head.

_At peace… They are at peace…_

He glanced towards the heavens, and for the first time in so long, he hoped that it was something more than a trick of his own insanity. “I love you all,” he whispered, touching his fingers to the glass. “Please forgive me.”

As had become his custom, Castiel lay down at Lucifer’s side, but he did not sleep. He simply listened to the light sound of slow, even breathing beside him and contemplated how comfortable they had become in such a seemingly short time. If freeing Lucifer had been Castiel’s one act as God, he would have been content. They would have to go back for Michael too, he thought. Lucifer would certainly insist upon that, and after everything that had happened, now so would he. Nobody deserved that place. The delicate kiss pressed to his temple stirred him from his thoughts, and he turned to give Lucifer a smile.

“Do you still hear them?”

“Yes and no. It went very quiet the moment you killed him, but sometimes when I close my eyes…”

“I’m afraid that part may take some time. Even now, in moments of silence, I hear a great many things I wish I did not.” Lucifer closed his eyes again.

“The silence echoes.”

“Yes. It does.”

Castiel reached over in the darkness to find his brother’s hand and laced their fingers together beneath the sheets. Then very softly, he began to sing the old Enochian hymn about the birth of various stars. In time, his voice tapered off to a hushed whisper, falling silent sometime shortly before dawn broke as Castiel finally drifted off to sleep. As his song tapered off, another began in its place.


End file.
